


Within The Sanctuary's Walls

by Trikkster



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Bottom Rick Grimes, F/F, F/M, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Piercings, Partial Nudity, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Public Nudity, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Top Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trikkster/pseuds/Trikkster
Summary: After an anonymous call is made, the Atlanta Police Department tries to infiltrate the strip club and BDSM dungeon "The Sanctuary" and it's owner Negan, both of which have gotten around any past law suits sent their way. Unfortunately for Michonne, the head of the Department, each undercover officer and investigator has been sniffed out by Negan almost instantly and sent right back out with their tails between their legs. So, she goes for a new tactic: Rick Grimes. Rick is a recently transferred Sheriff's Deputy, fresh out of a relationship of his own that ended less than desirably. He knows nothing of undercover infiltration, and to the others, that might give him the edge he needs to sneak in undetected by Negan's narc radar. But can Rick put his personal feelings about The Sanctuary's amenities and services aside long enough to get the dirt they need? Things get more complicated the deeper he tries to dig, and suddenly he finds himself not just struggling to keep Negan and the others fooled, but to keep his heart in check as he finds that the "monster" he came to take down might not be the person he first assumed him to be.





	1. Reluctantly Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I've been sitting on the idea for this fanfic for a long time, and figured that you all might enjoy it! I'm still going to be working on Metamorphosis and Wrong Guy, but this idea literally wouldn't leave me alone! It is going to be a bit darker than Wrong Guy, simply because it IS about a BDSM dungeon. However, I'm planning on the focus to be more on the characters themselves. Especially Negan and Rick. And it does have a happy ending, I assure you! Of course, there will be nudity in it, including this first chapter, and strong language, and various BDSM elements all the same. I will try to update the tags for the story as needed, and really just hope you all enjoy this first chapter! It is probably the longest chapter I have ever written, but I literally could not find a place that felt right for it to be split into two! Also, while Negan isn't the goodie two shoes kind of guy in this story, he is not a villain, I assure you!

The old brick buildings of Oakland City, Atlanta stood tall and looming against the clear blue sky, casting their long shadows over the ground and those who traveled along it. What was once a long, bustling line of shops was now a ghost town made up of tall red brick storefronts, gazing quietly out at the world beyond their doors. 

Rick Grimes sighed in irritation, driving the white Honda Accord past the lonely buildings, the windows above the storefronts seeming to glower at him as if he didn’t belong there. Honestly, he felt like he agreed with them as he looked out and over the area from behind his windshield. The sidewalks, once bustling with people hurrying about and making purchases, now lay barren, with the current foot traffic limited to just the occasional person scuttling from their car to their destination or vice versa. 

The trash cans were covered in various graffiti and overflowing, long since abandoned by the main city’s waste disposal organization. Because of that various wrappers, cans, and plastic items were rolling along the broken cement, having burst free from said trash cans’ upper rims or having been tossed to the ground by passersby who just couldn’t bring themselves to care enough to dispose of them properly.

. The cars lining the street were older cars, long since fallen into disrepair, some with spares on them and all with dings and dents in their doors. Rick had to wonder how many of them actually ran successfully. Most of them surely shouldn’t even if they did. Sighing, the 35 year old Sheriff’s Deputy turned to his bluetooth button in his car and pressed it, “Call Abraham,” he said once the car had made a loud beeping noise that let him know it had connected to his phone.

As he waited for the man to pick up, he pulled over to the side of the road into one of the many available parallel parking spaces. On the other side of the parking space ran a long, cracked sidewalk with a brick half-wall on the other side of it. 

He glanced beyond the wall at the many grave markers of Oakland City Cemetery, the only visitors today being the occasional crows and squirrels. The sight of the place sent a shiver down his spine. Like that childish feeling one would get when walking through a graveyard at night. He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel as he continued to listen to the sounds of his call being pushed through. Dammit, he hoped Abraham would pick up. . . 

“Yup, Abe here,” the man’s gruff voice came crackling through the car’s speakers.Rick’s shoulders sagged in relief. He seriously needed to be redirected. He must be lost, after all. The place he was looking for couldn’t possibly be here. It just couldn’t . . . 

“Abraham, this is Rick,” Rick sighed, running a hand through his freshly cut and dyed dark hair. It was a dark chocolate brown, looking almost black compared to his normal hair color. It was a haircut one would expect on a younger man, cut short on the sides while the hair on the top of his head remained a little bit longer.Hair extensions had been put in place to make him have a ponytail in the back,which explained why his hair was kept long on top, to make it look like it flowed naturally into said ponytail. The hair ran in one straight line along the center of his head, as opposed to his normal naturally curly hair that usually covered his head in a nice, uniform layer.

Rick sighed, the clip on nose ring and lip ring he wore irritating him and making him rub at his nostrils and lower lip uncomfortably as the green colored contacts made his eyes feel too dry as they hid his baby blues. Moving his hand away for the upteenth time from his lip and nose, he had to remind himself not to scratch at the real looking temporary tattoo that lay against the left side of his neck and disappeared beneath his clothes. It was just a long henna design that had been put on him the night before, but it already made him itch like crazy. He had no idea how long he would really be able to put up with it. Part of his issue with it was the fact that he didn’t even want it in the first place. And yet it was there, the ink moving from his back to where it ran down his arm, racing out from under the short sleeved shirt to hug his tanned skin.

The charcoal grey v neck shirt was baggy in contrast to the tight black jeans he wore, which hugged his body in all the right places with rips in the material sitting over his left thigh and his right knee. The shirt and pants had been described as typical finds one would get at places like Urban Outfitters or Abercrombie and Fitch. He grit his teeth, fiddling with the black chain of the necklace he wore, a black bullet dangling from it to “match” his nose ring and lip ring as well as the 3 clip on hoop earrings that donned his right ear’s outer lobe, black stones set into all of his facial and ear jewelry. He heaved a deep sigh, his feet squirming in his new black Toms.

His overall appearance, from the new hairstyle to the Toms on his feet was not one he’d chosen for himself, and had simply been one advised for him use for his current assignment by Andrea, a Civilian Investigator with their police department. He had to wear the outfit though, making him look more like he was in his mid twenties, not his mid thirties, to the outside world. According to the people in charge, his clothing, fake tattoos, fake piercings, and new hairstyle screamed that he was a young adult fresh out on his own. And according to them, that was precisely what Rick needed to appear to be to complete his current mission. 

Rick sighed, running a hand down his ponytail before resting his palms against his thighs, gazing out the window and biting the inside of his cheek, watching as a mother and son hurried to the Laundromat set into the line of shops, which was the fourth store down from where he was parked but the first one that he saw was actually an open and running establishment. He shook his head. This couldn’t be the right place. He was sure of that. Continuing to watch the street, he spoke, “You need to tell Sasha to recheck her information sources.The address you gave me must be bogus Abe, because my GPS took me somewhere that-trust me- is not going to have the place we’re looking for in it.”

“Nope man, the Sanctuary’s there alright, double checked and triple checked that shit over a week ago,” Abraham said, then there was a pause, where Rick heard the unmistakable sound caused by tapping computer keys in the background, “Yup, looking at your GPS locator now and at the end of the street you’ll find it, pretty boy.” Rick grit his teeth, locking his freshly shaved jawline firmly, glaring at the small display screen in his car, with the picture of his fellow law enforcement worker pasted across it as a form of Caller ID, “Don’t call me THAT,” he muttered, shifting irritatedly in his seat, the wiring of the recorder and the tape that held it on him irritating him and gripping his skin uncomfortably beneath the shirt. The equipment was one of the reasons that article of clothing had to be baggy on him, and part of the reason for his rather sour mood regarding this entire assignment. 

He growled out softly, the moving around not helping at all, and flopped back, sagging against the seat, gazing irritatedly at the ceiling of the rental vehicle he was using before moving his eyes back to scan the street, “Well I’m here, and I’m telling ya the address is WRONG. I might as well go back to the station so we can figure out the real address we need to go to. . .” 

As he said that he saw two men crossing the street to the side he was on, to what most would call a POSH car-aka Piece Of Shit Honda. Both men peered at him suspiciously, and it made him feel even more out of place and uncomfortable, “People are giving me weird looks already man. Trust me, I don’t belong here, and the Sanctuary definitely doesn’t either. None of these buildings look like what we’re looking for.”

“Riiiight, because you soooo know what sex dungeons look like and where they are usually located? Is that what you do on your days off Ricky?” Abraham teased. “Shut up,” Rick snapped, eyes continuing to scan the sidewalk, “Just let me go back to the station and we can figure out where I’m supposed to be. For REAL this time.”

“No can do man, like I said you ARE in the right place,” Abraham replied, “We’re sure of it.” “Then why don’t you come down here and do the assignment?” Rick snapped, then paused, sucking in a deep breath as his bladder suddenly felt very heavy. Growling he hit the wheel of the car, pushing his head into the seat further and groaning in frustration, “Dammit, I gotta fucking pee.” 

“Oooh, watch that language there, pretty boy, you ARE on duty,” Abraham chuckled, his voice warm and with a light, playful air to it. “Shut the fuck up, and I TOLD you not to fucking call me that,” Rick muttered, giving up any sense of formality and taking his phone out of the cup holder in between the two front seats, disconnected the bluetooth before getting out of the car. He normally wouldn’t use so much . . . decorative language. . . in his vernacular, but he already felt weird, like he was in someone else’s body, and that alone, regardless of the neighborhood he was in, was enough to make him on edge and cranky.

Checking the street for any oncoming traffic and finding none he got out, slamming the door closed and using his key, locked the car. Making his way quickly across the street, he sighed, rubbing at his lip ring yet again and blinking his eyes furiously to try to form some moisture to ease the discomfort he felt regarding the contacts, pressing the flat screen of the smartphone to his left ear as he walked, “I don’t see why we don’t just raid the place anyway. Why do we have to do all this undercover stuff?” he muttered in a low voice, stepping over a deep, murky looking puddle caused by the rain Atlanta had been hit with the night before. 

Making it to the curb, the undercover sheriff stepped onto it and made his way down the sidewalk, one hand shoved in his pocket as the other held the device firmly to his ear.

“You know why,” Abraham said patiently, “Michonne doesn’t want to make a move against the Sanctuary unless we have viable evidence, aka a cause for a warrant. Otherwise things could go seriously sideways and shitfaced for us. The owner knows how to play the legal game, he’s already proven that, which means we have to be smart about this. That means we need proof that the call we got was accurate. Then we can serve a warrant and go inside the place and bring them to justice. Trust us Rick, we know about these places. Probably more than you’d care to know. Infiltration is the best way to bring one of these fuckers down.” Rick sighed, rolling his eyes, glancing at the shops as he passed by a woman and girl, the lady hustling the child around Rick and towards their car behind where Rick was walking, casting him sidelong suspicious glances as she did so.

Rick grit his teeth, trying to shove the awkward feeling he got from that look down deep into his gut. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, the redhead was right. Infiltration was probably the best way to go about this. Buuuut. . . “I know that, I know. . . I just don’t see why I HAVE to be the one to infiltrate the damn place!” As he moved quickly, trying to hold in his piss until he could hopefully relieve himself in the Laundromat, he glanced at the empty brick shops as he passed by them. 

The first three storefronts he saw had boarded up windows with all manner of graffiti scrawled on their surfaces, but through all the grime he could see that they had been a music shop, a book shop, and a small cafe. He sighed, seeing the empty, dusty shelves by glancing in between the boards of the windows of the first two, along with some long since left behind inventory sitting on said shelves. It was obvious to him that Oakland had at one point been a fairly nice place to live, but when Atlanta had expanded, Oakland had been left behind and forgotten for the most part. Which meant little mom and pop shops like these hadn’t stood much of a chance with regards to continuing, at least not here. 

Sooner or later, Rick was certain that each shop on the small strip across from the cemetery would either see their owners in the ground across the road or moving on to some other part of the city, either to reopen shop or to lower themselves to a mere worker in a massive company serving the corporate giants who had caused their own businesses to ultimately go bankrupt. 

The overall atmosphere of Oakland was troubling to Rick, making him hunch his shoulders against the gloom. Perhaps the worst part of the area’s financial situation was that Rick knew that no more than thirty minutes away from such desolation were the affluent areas of Buckhead and Decatur, where people drove expensive sports cars like ferraris around, able to afford to keep the cars in tip top shape as opposed to the ratty, beaten up ones that sat on the roads here. He sucked in a deep breath as a large rat darted out from a crack in the foundation of the abandoned cafe, shooting out squeaking before him before diving down into the open storm drain of the sidewalk and out of sight. He stared after it, having frozen on the spot as soon as the rodent revealed itself, before moving forward quickly, his urge to pee only intensified by the surprise he’d just suffered.

It wasn’t the only surprise he’d suffered recently. Moving from the rural King’s County to Atlanta had been one hell of a culture shock for him. Rick wasn’t a backwoods country bumpkin like so many at the metropolitan area’s station had seemed to believe upon meeting him after he transferred from King’s County. . . at least, he didn’t think he was. As he’d proven to those he’d gotten close to, he knew how the world worked and how the little man was often chewed up and shit out by the big men and companies far too often. It was a cold truth and one that he hated with a passion, but it was something he’d known from very early in life. 

His mother had once owned a sweet little cafe and bakery when he was younger. He’d hang out there on occasion, doing his homework when school would let out. When King’s County had gotten a Dunkin Donuts and a Krispy Kreme almost all at once, he’d seen the number of people in her business drop drastically. Sure, she didn’t lose all of her clientele, but the talks about money in his house had increased. The few customers who had remained loyal to her in the small town just weren’t enough anymore. His dad worked for the police department so they still made good money there, but gradually Mrs. Grimes began to lose money just keeping the place open, and ultimately, she’d had to close her doors. She seemed fine with it, all things considered, but Rick still remembered the moments afterwards where she’d look particularly downtrodden, like she’d lost a battle. So yes, at least on some level, he had understood that truth. 

He just hadn’t expected to have to face so much of said truth when he’d moved to his State’s Capital. It felt like he had been smacked with it upon starting with the Atlanta Police. Each and every day, the areas he patrolled seemed to be the poorer and more run down parts of Atlanta. As he’d gone through his rounds on his first week, the main thing he’d wondered was what would he do when his son came to visit. He certainly didn’t want Carl to be concerned about his father’s new job. 

Luckily, he’d managed to get an apartment in the nicer part of town when he’d moved there in the first place, so when Carl came to spend the weekend with him they would have a lovely time together as they maintained their Father-Son relationship, either by visiting the Aquarium or the Zoo or other places that Carl wanted to see and experience. Rick always made sure to keep Carl away from the grimmer parts of Atlanta where he worked, not wanting his eight year old to worry. Furthermore, to help make the most of said time with his son, Rick made sure to always have their special weekends off, so that he could spend uninterrupted time with his child from the minute Lori, his ex, dropped Carl off on Saturday morning until the time when she would pick Carl back up Sunday evening. 

He sighed as he passed by the foggy, dirty windows of the Laundromat before pushing through the door of said establishment, a rusty jingle bell clanging from where it dangled on a frayed ribbon from the inside handle as he entered the place, the noise not much of a rival to the rattling air conditioning system the establishment sported, sounding like it would finally die out any moment. He quickly glanced around, seeing stacked washing machines all along the back wall, half of them having “Out of Order” signs taped to their scratched up glass doors. Beside the washing machines were two old and rusty vending machines, their bulbs long since gone out. 

The small boy he’d seen before was currently fumbling with the change flaps of the machines, clearly trying to get some coins someone might have missed picking up, while the person who Rick guessed was his mother, the only woman in the building aside from two teenagers in faded leather sports jackets, paid little attention. The woman was currently leaned back, her blonde dreadlocks falling down over her tanned shoulders from underneath her purple bandanna as she chewed noisily at a piece of gum, reading a magazine as she sat on an old rickety chair in front of the washing machine with her clothes inside. Rick grit his teeth, pushing his worry for the unsupervised boy down as he walked further inside the place, seeing one of the teenage boys cutting him an odd look. ‘Fuck, even he knows I’m not from around here. This whole situation is all wrong,’ Rick thought with a sigh. He was used to being looked at oddly in his Sheriff’s uniform. Then he was supposed to stand out. But not now. How on earth was this whole thing going to go right? He still wasn’t 100% sure he was in the right place, no matter what Abe said.

The two sports jacket teens were near the dryers, which were positioned with their metal plate backs to the dirty front windows of the Laundromat. They were hovering over a phone, watching a funny video if Rick had to make a guess at the content, seeing as occasionally one would let out a short laugh. The teen that had given him the odd look didn’t take long to switch his eyes back to said phone, snickering as he returned to whatever they were viewing there. “I’m telling you, Abe, I’m not the one for this job,” Rick muttered into the phone, “Everyone’s looking at me weird.”

“Probably because you’re acting wigged man, just relax!” Abe laughed, “You’re not getting out of this, remember, you drew the shortest straw pretty boy!” Rick sighed, glancing at the oriental gentleman behind the counter who didn’t so much as look at him as he passed by. At that point he finally spotted the old, rusty sign for the restroom beside the vending machines and his pace quickened as he headed in that direction, “I know that, but really, why couldn’t we have drawn again?” 

 

“A-because that wouldn’t have been fair, Rick. You know no one really wants to do this job,” Abraham chuckled, “And B-you’re probably the best one for the damn job anyway! And not just because you’re the newbie here! You’re one of the leanest guys here man AND you have no wrinkles, not really. It’s easy to make you look young and attractive, and those are two important things about working at a place like The Sanctuary! I mean can you imagine me or Tyrone rolling up in that place and just landing a job there? Hell no, not unless they’re lookin’ for bodyguards, which, we checked, they aren’t. All they’re looking for is a new sub and a new bartender, and there ain’t no way in hell we’re letting any one of us go undercover as the first. Even without the straws, that would leave you and the girls for the bartender gig. And let’s be honest, not one of us wants to send a girl to be a bartender in a place like that. That’s why they didn’t even draw for the job!” 

“But with me, someone who’s never done anything like this before, it’s ok?” Rick muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he marched through the old red door of the male restroom, the paint on it peeling away. His nose almost immediately wrinkled up as he made his way past the urinal that was clogged up with soaked paper towels-gross!- and the cracked, old sink beneath the dirty mirror of the room, two of the three lights above it already out a nd the one that was there flickering, clearly on its last leg. “It’s the safest bet,” Abe remarked firmly, and Rick opened the door, grimacing in horror at the clogged up, murky brown toilet water, actual turds floating on top of the liquid, “Damn, that’s gross.” he groaned, before turning and quickly making his way out of the stall and the bathroom altogether, the gross stench that had filled his nose upon opening the stall door stuck in his nostrils now. “What’re you talking about man?” Abe asked quickly, genuine concern in his voice. 

Rick sighed, hurrying out of the Laundromat and onto the sidewalk. Today was just such a damn headache, he decided, turning and making his way quickly down the street, his bladder screaming at him for release now. “Just the fucking toilet man. . . Dammit, I gotta fucking go. . .” He passed an older chinese food restaurant, able to see over the pictures that covered half of the windows that “Chao Ming’s Chinese” had a toilet that was out of order as well, if the sign on the family restroom door was any indicator. ‘Great,’ he thought, doing his best to tense up and hold in his urine as he passed by a short alleyway, trying to divert his eyes from the homeless person asleep near the restaurant’s dumpster, an old tattered to go plate laying on the ground beside him, a ratty blanket pulled over the man.

Abraham laughed, “Just go behind a building or something. You ARE the police, I doubt you’ll give yourself a ticket for public urination. . .” Rick groaned at the ginger’s joke, before Abraham continued, “But if it makes you feel better, if you do decide to water some daisies out in the open, I’ll personally write that ticket, Grimes.” Rick rolled his eyes and marched by a clothing store that had a sign placed very plainly against the bars on its windows saying that the toilets were for customer use only. Not wanting to get in an argument with the people who owned the place, Rick walked up to the next place, a Deli.

Named “American Deli and Sub Shop”, it actually appeared to be one of the cleanest places on the strip, and he pushed inside quickly. Hell, if he needed to buy a drink after using the facilities, he would, he decided, as he all but ran past the tables and counter and into the bathroom.

“Fuck fuck fuck. . .” he breathed with each step. He swore that if there was no working toilet here he’d scream. . .and then piss in the sink. Luckily, the bathroom, in spite of its hideous green tiling and mustard yellow walls, had two stalls, vacant but with working toilets, and a urinal. Deciding to go with the latter as it was closer, Rick made his way over, breathed out a sigh, quickly unzipped his pants, and leaned back, “Thank god,” he muttered to himself, the phone still against his ear as he hadn’t thought to end the call in his rush, Abraham chuckling through the earpiece, “I take it the princess found a spot?” 

“Shut up,” Rick grunted as his piss hit the back ceramic wall of the stand up toilet, “And why the fuck am I the safest bet anyway? I don’t even know this part of town, I’ve never patrolled it, and yet you guys think it’s a great idea for me to go undercover so soon? I don’t even have experience going undercover!” 

“Which makes you the perfect guy for the job, Rick,” Abe remarked, “All the other guys who have gone in to infiltrate this place and its owner, they’ve all been sniffed out after just a few conversations with the guy. It’s like he’s a narc detector.If someone going undercover is trying to get hired on or claims that they are trying to run a story on the place, he either denies them the job or gives some bullshit answers that wouldn’t ever be useful for a decent article and that don’t give any evidence to use against him! The bastard can smell undercover agents a mile away, Rick. It’s like he knows what to expect with them. That’s why we’re sending you in. We’re hopin’ he won’t see you comin’. Besides, you do have some basic skills of undercover, just not as much as the rest of us. I just hope your bartending is good enough to get you in . . . you looked like a man trying juggling for the first time when you were taking those lessons for this!” 

“I only dropped that one glass,” Rick replied defensively, finishing up and shaking himself off. Abraham chuckled, “Yeah, one glass. . .And the shaker, and the case of beers, and the container of cherries. Damn near thought that teacher would kick us out of her hospitality school,” Abraham chuckled. “Haha,” Rick deadpanned as he washed his hands, then paused, “You don’t think that my lack of skill won’t tip him off?” “Not if he thinks you’re just some inexperienced guy, Rick. Besides, it’s too late to rethink the plan now. You’re all done up, it’s showtime. Get in there and try to get some legitimate proof that gives us enough reason to file a warrant. If this goes quickly, you’ll be in, out, and done with the job before you know it! And if you’re found out and escorted right back out the door, well, at least you tried!”

Rick sighed, wiping his wet hands off with a brown paper towel before tossing it into the trash can and readjusted the phone into his now dry left hand, marching out into the Deli, prepared to pay for some small thing in exchange for him using their facilities, “I’m telling you though, I don’t think this address is right.We’ve been told that this guy caters to a more luxurious clientele and trust me, this area, it doesn’t have any people like tha-” He froze, blinking at two men sitting in a corner booth of the deli, empty wrappers from their sub sandwiches balled up on the table between them, one man sipping a coffee in his hands and looking nervous while another ate a bag of chips, leaning back in the booth and clearly relaxed. 

“Everything ok Rick?” Abraham asked, cutting through the shock Rick felt at the sight of the men. “Y-yeah. . . I’ll. . . I’ll call you back. . .” he said, pressing the :End Call” button without even lowering his phone, not taking his eyes off of the two guys. The men were wearing expensive pinstripe suits, the man with the coffee having auburn bangs swept to the side and gelled to keep them in place and glasses that made his eyes look much larger than they were, the other having slicked back platinum blonde hair. Both men looked incredibly out of place in the deli, even the man who looked so relaxed, but the other five people in the small shop paid them no mind, like their presence was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Hey son, ya want somethin’?” a gruff voice to Rick’s right remarked, snapping Rick out of his frozen state. He turned, blinking at the man behind the glass deli counter. He was an overweight man with what appeared to be two chins, a dirty white shirt that had a big mustard stain streaking down the front, and a black apron just barely able to be seen beneath the underside of a massive stomach. A stained and crumpled white hat sat on his bald head. “Uh, yeah,” Rick managed to say, glancing at the two men at the table. 

The man who was eating the chips finished his meal, crumpling up the bag and turning, tossing it like a basketball into the air and ringing the trash can effortlessly. As he started to get up Rick moved quickly to the counter, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the dirty menu sign behind the worker, and bit his lip for just a second before the pain of pressing into the fake lip ring made him release it. Damn, he needed to remember his “piercings”. . . 

“Ummmm, I guess I’ll have a. . . ummmm. . .” he glanced once more at the men, and grit his teeth, seeing the man with the coffee cup stand up as well. Shit! The presence of the men had revived his dwindling faith in the address Abraham had given him. Something told him that the two guys were going to The Sanctuary, and Rick wanted to be able to follow them there. 

“Any day now, boy?” the man behind the counter said, clearly irritated and impatient. Rick darted his eyes back over to the man’s beady black eyes, “I’ll. . . I’ll have a Coke, please. . .” Rick said quickly, moving along the glass case to the portion of the counter where the register was. The man rolled his eyes and turned to a large white refrigerator, opening the door and leaning down before Rick heard the clanking of bottles. Rick gritted his teeth and darted his eyes away from top of the man’s butt crack peeking out above his black slacks as he bent over. The man sighed, as if getting Rick the drink was something he wished he didn’t have to do, “Yeah, that’ll pay the fucking rent. It’ll be 2.50 son.” Rick pulled out the chain wallet from his back pocket quickly, almost dropping it in his haste, his black painted fingernails fumbling as he opened it, eyes not leaving the men as they headed out the door. He grit his teeth, ‘Shit!’ 

He turned back to the Deli worker, pulling three dollar bills out of the wallet quickly before letting them fall on the counter, grabbing the older style glass bottle of overpriced Coke from him the minute the cap was popped off, “Keep the change!” Turning, shoving the wallet back into his back pocket, he hurried out of the shop, gripping the still full drink in his hand. The men were walking to the end of the strip, headed opposite the way Rick had come, and he clenched his hand tighter around the bottle, following them at a hurried pace so as to not lose them while still trying to not look like he was following them, glancing at the storefronts he passed as he went. There was a liquor store side by side with the Deli, then a small Grocery store, then an abandoned storefront. . . it looked like it had once been a shoe store . . . 

Rick stopped at the next building, the two men and him having reached the wide, brick building at the end of the strip of stores. The building seemed to loom above him, taller and wider than the rest, with tall, firm Corinthian Columns racing up its two corners facing the street. Rick stared up at the black rectangular sign that sat plainly against its red brick walls, between what appeared to be its second and third floor, the sign outlined and written upon in thick silver paint. He gulped at the name there: “THE SANCTUARY”. He grit his teeth, glancing up at the six tall windows of the four story building’s upper floors, all of which seemed to look down on him suspiciously, with their white painted frames and black opaque curtains, blocking out any view of the inside world of the sex dungeon from him. There appeared to be no windows at all on the first floor, the round white stone framed areas where they once were now filled in with red brick that matched the siding found on the other parts of the building.

It had once been a historic hotel patronized by those visiting Atlanta who were unable to afford staying in more affluent communities. As even those sorts of visitors abandoned the venue, the business had finally closed down a decade ago, and the building had sat abandoned for four years before being bought up by the person who had initially turned it into a gentlemen's strip club known as “The Brick”, still maintaining rooms that could be rented out up above. Since then it had come under new ownership and now stood tall before him as “The Sanctuary”. 

The main floor WAS still a strip club, but the word around was that the upper floors were a full on BDSM sex dungeon now. And if the eerie phone call the police had gotten three weeks prior was any indication, the owner had decided it would be more profitable to turn it into something even worse. . . not to mention illegal.

Rick grit his teeth, glancing over as the two men rounded the building, the blonde wrapping a comforting arm around his friend, as if consoling him regarding coming there. Rick at first wondered if the two gentlemen knew of a secret entrance, as there was still a white framed doorway a few feet away from him, with white marble steps and black wrought iron railings that led up from the cement sidewalk to a little alcove of a stoop. But as he approached, he saw that while there was still a black painted door in the white stone framed space, it had apparently been sealed up with no doorknob remaining, a wrought iron outdoor ashtray sitting in the middle of the stoop with two small benches on either side of the area. A man and a woman stood chatting there, blowing cigarette smoke up to the currently off wrought iron lantern hanging low in the formerly functioning doorway.

Rick blinked at them both, just as the woman turned to him, wearing a black business suit with what Rick could tell was only a fishnet shirt underneath it. The woman had dark auburn hair that bordered on brunette. It hung in a beautiful frame around her angular but attractive face. She had guarded black eyes and a black leather choker, not to mention some of the tallest and strappiest high heels Rick had ever seen. As her eyes turned to gaze at him, her full, beautiful lips spread into a small smile.

“Hi there,” she slurred softly. Her eyes remained guarded, but it was clear she was trying to make Rick feel comfortable and not so awkward. The man beside her rolled his eyes, having blonde hair slicked back so that only the ends of his curls weren’t straight, said curls puffing out at the nape of his neck, wearing a black zipper front sweatshirt that was open enough for Rick to see that he had nothing on underneath that. The man shifted his weight in his black tight leather pants, leather lacings racing up the sides of the pants from where they met the thick black boots the man wore, before taking another drag on his cigarette, flicking the ashes from it into the ashtray before turning his full focus on Rick, frowning at him with cool hazel eyes, “Hey man, Sher and I aren’t on the clock. So just head on inside. No freebies, no harassment, ya fill me? You try somethin’, the big guy’ll know and you’ll be sorry, trust me.” he jabbed his pointer finger in the air, pointing to the back right corner of the small alcove. 

Rick could see a dome security camera there. And grit his teeth, not liking the fact that the man was implying he’d try to take advantage of them, but understanding the concern and wariness that the man had. “I’m not wanting that, honest, I. . .” he could feel himself faltering as both employees looked at him, eyebrows raised at his obvious nervousness. He didn’t like feeling so awkward, like a fish out of water, and his fingers gripped the coke bottle tighter, bringing the rim to his lips to try to collect himself. He didn’t want to be here, but now that he was here, he had a job to do. . . and he was going to do it whether he wanted to or not. There were lives at stake, after all. And he couldn’t do it if he chickened out before going inside. . . “I’m just looking for the front door, I . . . I thought this was it, sorry,” he said, frowning at them as he lowered the now half full bottle from his mouth, tapping his fingers along the glass, “Can either of you show me the way?” 

The man sighed, and took a drag on his cigarette, and Rick wasn’t 100% sure if that meant he was no longer suspicious or if he was still suspicious AND now annoyed with him. The woman smiled weakly at him, “You’re new here, aren’t ya hon?” Rick smiled a little at her-clearly the more social out of the two- and nodded, shifting to the side and lifting a hand up to run through his hair. “Yes ma’am.” 

The woman chuckled and shook her head, “You can call me Sherry, Mr. . . “ Rick blinked, and quickly had to remember his “name”. “Nicholas Parker, Miss Sherry.” Sherry smiled fondly at him, her gaze having softened significantly since when they’d first met, “Well Nick, just go on down to the other end of the building and take a quick left. There’ll be a parking lot there, and that’s the side of the building the real door’s on, ok? You’ll see David there. He’s our doorman.” Rick nodded, “End of the building, then left, got it, thank you Miss Sherry.” He nodded at the man for good measure and turning, walked down the sidewalk. 

As he walked, he frowned and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his sound recordings on it before picking the one he wanted and pressing play. Licking the Coke from his lips, he put the phone to his ear. As he took another sip of his drink, the scratchy voice of the man who had started all of the latest investigations of “The Sanctuary” came over the line. . . “I’m calling you all to report a crime?” “Yes sir, where are you calling from? What is the nature of your emergency?” the 911 female dispatcher’s voice floated through the earpiece speaker, and he grit his teeth, listening as there was some noises that sounded like fumbling on the male end until. . . “I’m at The Sanctuary, in Oakland? I. . . I work here, I just had to let someone know. He’s doing things, things he shouldn’t be doing. . . little girls, little boys, he needs to be stopped,” the male voice grated over the line, the connection too poor to be able to hear him clearly.

Rick gritted his teeth. It had been vague, but the police departments that had heard the call’s recording had all determined that it could be pointing to one thing they all were trying to stop: sex trafficking and forced prostitution of minors. “Sir, would you like to clarify? Who are you saying is doing this? Can we have the names of the ‘little girls’ and ‘little boys’ involved? What is your name sir?” the 911 dispatcher continued, receiving no answers in the pauses between any of her questions. “No, sorry, I have to go. Just, try to help them!” that was all the male voice said and then the line went dead. With just enough information gathered to cause an investigation but not enough to serve a warrant in the eyes of the judges of Atlanta. Rick grit his teeth and lowered the now almost emptied bottle, sliding his phone back into his back pocket. He didn’t understand the judges’ hesitation or the vagueness of the call, and neither had the Oakland Police Department. They’d gained enough permission for an infiltration, however, and had sent in numerous people undercover, but as Abraham had reminded him earlier, they had all failed at getting sufficient proof to serve a warrant.

All because the owner, who was suspected of being the “he” in the recording, had sniffed them out somehow. Of course, he’d never accused anyone outright of being a narc, but they could tell he knew. It was the only way to explain him either rejecting them for jobs so suddenly after he seemed to figure it out, or how suddenly his answers to interview questions had turned random.

That’s why the head of Rick’s division, Michonne Gurira, had decided to let Rick, a Sheriff’s Deputy brand new to the field of undercover investigation, take on this task. As she had put it to him, he didn’t have the typical well honed skills that the others had, but still knew enough about his duties to get a viable confession or admission that could serve as their needed proof. In her mind, that was what she needed to try to get this job done. It was clear to Rick that this was a last ditch effort to try to bring the monster described over the phone to justice. ‘No pressure,’ he’d thought as she’d laid out the plan to him.

Still, while Rick didn’t like what he was being asked to be involved in-not just because of the neighborhood he found himself in but because of the particular eccentricities that lay within the building to his left-he wanted to help the girls and boys who might be in trouble. So, he downed the last of his Coca Cola and tossed it in the overflowing trash can beside the corner of the building, rounding the pillar there and staring at the vehicles parked in the vast parking lot he found to be there.

Although some of them were rather dingey vehicles, most of the cars were relatively nice, new, and expensive looking ones, ones that Rick wouldn’t dare expect to find in such a neighborhood. It literally looked like he was in Buckhead or Decatur, and that was one hell of a shock for him. He frowned looking around after peeling his surprised eyes away from all of the expensive cars, and saw what he was looking for: a muscular man wearing a black shirt and black slacks manning what appeared to be a steel freezer style door that had been painted a metallic black color and that was set into the wall of the establishment.

Assuming that the man was “David”, Rick walked up the sidewalk along the side of the building, remaining in its shadow between said building and a half wall of cement that separated the parking lot from the sidewalk on his right. As he walked he watched a wealthy looking man and woman who had just gotten out of a slick red corvette parked near the entrance to the place. He was wearing a full suit and she a short, beautiful silver cocktail dress as they approached the door, walking on the red carpet style five foot rug that led up to the REAL entrance to the venue. He couldn’t hear what they said exactly to him, but they seemed to be on good terms with “David”, as after all of them laughed and guffawed, he grinned and turning, gripped the handlebar of the door before swinging it open and bowing them inside. 

Rick frowned, and tried to straighten his back as he approached to try to appear a little bit more confident in himself, glancing at the shining, flawless 1977 black Trans Am parked right beside the door. A white metal sign that had been posted on the building across from the car read “OWNER PARKING ONLY”, and the parking space was clearly larger than the others, with two black stone walls on either side of the car’s length, moving along it until the back wheel axle of the vehicle. He assumed the added walls were to prevent anyone from hitting the car with their own. He gritted his teeth, ‘Pretentious Motherfucker’. 

Still, he had to admit it was one hell of a car as he walked along the wall before it, peering over the barrier. There on its hood was the the standard Trans Am emblem painted in a deep red color, its grill and the pinstripe flames running along the sides matching the bird. The car looked freshly cleaned, buffed, and waxed, flawless in every way without a single dent in sight. He couldn’t see inside the car due to its tinted windows, but he was sure that the inside was immaculate if the outside was any indicator. For a moment he had to stop and look at it a bit longer, imagining just how fast it could go and how it would sound when the driver cranked it up. After all, didn’t all guys like cars on some level? And the black trans am with its red rimmed wheels was definitely a showstopper. Rick had to admit that, even if the owner was suspected of being a monster. 

“Nice wheels huh?” the gruff voice of “David” sounded, and Rick frowned, turning to him, and slowly continued towards him, hands jammed in his pockets. “Yeah, yours?” he said, for lack of any other small talk. He really wanted to hear what David sounded like a bit better. From what he could hear, the man wasn’t the caller on the phone. His voice was too gruff. Rick had a gut feeling it wasn’t him. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to listen to it one more time though. He actually wanted to hear the voices of as many of the male workers here as much as possible, to try to find who might have made that call. If he could find out who the caller was and confirm it, that could make his job a lot easier. But it was tricky. If he made a mistake and revealed any information to the wrong person, he could blow his cover and any chance he had of getting to the bottom of things.

David laughed, his black eyes glittering in mirth, “Nah Hot Stuff, you think I’d be working the damn door if I had that kind of money?” Rick blinked, frowning at the scar that ran along David’s temple. David noticed his glance, and frowned, crossing his arms, turning his head to make the scar less visible to him, sizing Rick up, “Haven’t seen you ‘round before, ya got any REAL business here kid?” Rick bit his lip, once more forgetting he had a lip ring and releasing it immediately, “Errr, yeah, I just. . . haven’t been around before. . .” 

Something about the guy told him it wasn’t him. The voice didn’t sound right, and his gut just didn’t feel like this was him. But his eyes did continue traveling towards where the man’s scar was. . . the observer in him wondered if there was a story behind that. . . “I was actually going to apply for the bartender position? I saw the help wanted ad and figured I’d apply. That is, if it hasn’t been filled yet?” 

David tilted his head to the side some more, smirking, “Bartender position, you? Really? Y’know that boss put down 4 years experience AT LEAST for that job in the ad, right? You look like you are barely old enough to be on the sites where it’s listed.” “I know,” Rick said, a bit too quickly. Inwardly scolding himself at sounding so nervous, he cleared his throat and straightened his back, putting more effort into his confident appearance, “And I have it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Been bartending straight out of college, did it a year before graduating, actually.” 

David chuckled, tilting his head to the other side, eyes moving up and down Rick, flashing him the scar again as he did so, “Have you now, pretty boy?” Rick grit his teeth and jutted his chin out, shoving his hands firmly into his pockets and leaning back, lifting his head and locking eyes on the man, “Yeah, as a matter of fact I have.” He didn’t like the feeling he was getting from the man’s eyes shifting up and down his body. They had a weird glint in them that made him uncomfortable. Like David wasn’t just looking at him, but imagining what was underneath his clothes. There was a pause where they both stared each other down, then David finally chuckled and shook his head, turning and gripping the handle before moving towards Rick, opening the door, “Go on in there and head to the bar then, pretty boy. D’ll get the boss man down for your interview.”

Rick nodded quickly, “Thank you.” he said tightly, and made to walk in, just as David brought the door closed behind him, leaning in a bit closer than was normal as he did so, stepping up behind Rick, breathing hot on his ear, “Course, with a tight bod like that, if you don’t get the bartending gig you could always apply for the submissive position that just opened up, baby. A sweet ass like that, who wouldn’t want to spank it?” Rick’s eyes widened as the door slammed closed behind him, a blush flooding his features as his right hand moved instinctively over his ass in an effort of covering it a little as he took in the strip club part of The Sanctuary for the first time. 

Suddenly the door re-opened, and he tensed as David chuckled, the man’s annoying breath back on his ear, and felt fingertips tapping around the top of his left ass cheek, “Damn, completely slipped my mind baby, but I’m gonna have to see some ID real quick. Who could blame me being so distracted by this tight ass of yours. . .” with that his fingers slipped into Rick’s pocket, and Rick could tell that they were curved away from his wallet so that they could cop a feel before getting the wallet out for him. . . 

“I can do that, thanks,” he muttered quickly, reaching back and batting the hand away, casting an offended look over his shoulder at the man who still had a shit eating grin on his face as he slid his hand away, holding both up as if to show they were both away from Rick as he took two steps back. Rick grit his teeth at the smug look in the man’s eyes, and pulling out his wallet, slid the Driver’s License that had been made for him out of its holder and handed it to David, who took it, looking at it and then at him before he smirked, “Yep, dead ringer, pretty boy.” 

‘It should be, damn photo was taken yesterday,’ Rick thought, rolling his eyes and jamming the card back into his wallet before pushing the wallet back into his pocket. David chuckled and shook his head, closing the door on him once again. After waiting to make sure the man didn’t try opening it again on him, Rick turned to properly take in the building’s inner room. 

The walls were exposed brick, rising up to the tall ceilings of the room, some of the windows he’d thought were from the second story able to be seen, complete with their curtains that kept the inside a secret from the outside world lining the wall to his left near the ceiling, which was a deep red painted ceiling with black wooden cross beams crisscrossing it in a square pattern. Along the rest of the walls, the only things placed against the brick as it rose up to the ceiling where black soundproofing sponge pieces that aided in keeping the music that played loudly over the room’s speakers at a wanted level. 

Right now Rick could hear “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” by Eve/Gwen Stefani playing throughout the room. Along the three walls that framed the room aside from the wall to his left were black wall mounted candelabras, casting a red glow on the room around them, placed in the walls at six foot intervals. Many of them hung above red crushed velvet stalls that were scattered around the room. From the ones that weren’t obstructed by red, sheer curtains, Rick could see comfortable plush black chairs sitting within each booth, with two padded benches jutting out from the side walls that were around the height of the seats of said chairs. He could see even with the sheer curtains pulled on the occupied booths that those areas were where patrons could get lap dances from the male and female strippers of the club, the benches jutting out from the walls apparently to help the strippers move around comfortably. 

Rick blinked, watching as in one booth a male and female stripper seemed to be entertaining patrons at the same time. That was something that surprised Rick. He had always assumed that there would either be male strip clubs or female ones. But here, in this massive room, there were both, with a runway type structure moving out from a black curtain set into the wall drawing his immediate attention as it solidified that fact. It was a long stage, covered in black crushed velvet with blood red floor lights shining up with a red glow from its edges.

The runway moved out into the room, splitting off and leading to two oval stages that stood opposite one another, each with four stripper poles, black in color, planted firmly into them. On the end to the right, Rick could see two female strippers performing in time with the music. It was a black woman with long curly hair that cradled her shoulders and a redhead with long straight hair, both in black leather lingerie with chokers on, entertaining onlookers. Watching them reminded Rick of his own Bachelor party weekend, thrown for him by his former best friend, Shane Walsh. 

They’d gone to Atlanta and Rick for once had gotten drunk before they went bar and strip club hopping. It had been unforgettable, and just watching the girls made Rick grit his teeth and turn his eyes away as blood flowed to his cock. Sure he hadn’t slept around that weekend, but he sure as hell had had to jack off plenty of times, and watching the two girls on stage brought all of that adrenaline and arousal back, unfortunately. After all, he certainly didn’t want to turn up to this interview with a hard on. So he moved his eyes instead to the other end of the stage, thinking surely the two men at that end would do well to wilt him. As soon as he looked though he wished he hadn’t.

At the other end he saw two men performing in tandem with the music as well, wearing black chaps and bondage gear as they grinded against each other seductively, one of them sporting nipple rings and a black collar with long black hair and a little bit of a beard, his leash held by the other man, a larger male with the lights in the room gleaming off of the smooth dark skin on his bald head, his own thicker facial hair brushing against the other’s neck. It made Rick rub at his own throat as the bigger man turned to acknowledge someone in the crowd, and after the smaller man nodded, the bigger one quickly yanked harder on the leash, pivoting his hips firmly against the other in a jerky movement. The other visibly gasped and rocked with the other male, clearly enjoying himself, or at least appearing to, even as the collar around his neck was pulled tighter. He stared as he watched them moving about and entertaining their own onlookers, theirs cocks out and bound up, swinging for the world to see. Not believing what he was seeing and yet for a moment being unable to look away. Finally he was able tear his eyes from the show the men were putting on.

Down from the stages, cheering and tossing dollar bills at the strippers, trying to get their attention, were men and women alike, lounging about on red chaise lounges that had plush pillows. Well, they were lounging when they weren’t standing up and talking to the strippers. One thing that mildly interested Rick was the fact that there didn’t seem to be more men or more women at either stage: it was all a fairly equal, even mix. Apart from the curtained stalls and the stage, scattered across the dark oak hardwood floor were black table clothed, high top tables, with scantily clad women and men moving between them, all wearing black leather collars but for the most part wearing the same kind of clothing as the workers on stage, serving drinks and food to the patrons who weren’t quite so bold as to make their way up to the stage or to a corner booth.

Each table had a red candle burning on it in a lantern, and apart from those and the candelabras, the only other lighting in the room was that of a large black ornate chandelier hanging just over where the runway split off to its two stages. Rick had to wager that there were red electric candles burning in that chandelier, which appeared to have fake wax stretching down from the candle holders, never to fall on the room below. He could tell from looking closely that there were spotlights set beside the stage’s curtains and in the corners of the room’s ceiling as well, ready to light the entire room up should there ever be call for it, which were now off, the lights that were currently on keeping the room in a mood that was sultry and sensual while still being bright enough for people to be able to know what was going on.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice grunted behind him. Rick turned, blinking at the lingering smell of cigarette smoke as the man from the alcove walked past him, frowning at him, followed by Sherry. As the two moved past him, he watched as they headed towards the section of wall to the left of the stage, where two doors were. Both looked like the door that David guarded to the place, and as he watched, Rick saw Sherry and the other man put two cards to the door on the left. A green light flashed across the top of the door, which then opened for them. Rick tried to get a glimpse of what lay beyond it, but the two were in it and had closed it before he could have a chance. Sighing, turning away from the stage, Rick decided he better head for the bar and look for “D”, to get on with his business. 

The bar was one of the longest he’d ever seen, running the entire length of wall to his left. The bar had black velvet running up its support wall, leading up to the slick black bar top. Red rope lights ran beneath the bar top, shining a sensual glow on the well cared for black leather barstool seats in front of it, at least thirty of the seats running the entire length of the structure. 

Behind the bar was every sort of alcohol imaginable set before a long black framed mirror that ran the length of the wall. TVs hung up high above the mirrors, portraying sex videos of varying natures on their flat screens. Currently there were four people at the bar, two of them being the couple he saw from the parking lot making out in one corner, their cocktails sitting temporarily forgotten on the bar top before them, whilst the others, the two guys from before, sat chatting it up at the other end of the bar over some drinks. The relaxed guy was doing most of the talking, while the other listened, still glancing around nervously.

Rick decided to walk over to the middle of the bar, pulling out one stool and watching it glide over the polished hardwood floor due to rubber guards set onto the ends of the stool’s feet before he sat down, frowning and leaning over the counter, trying to divert his eyes from the lewd behavior of the tv nearest him. The section of the bar before him had a typical napkin and drink straw holder set into it, with a red T and S written in cursive on its black plastic box surface, with two menus, both quite thick, sticking up out of a long narrow compartment on the other side from the lettering.

Rick frowned and leaning forward, plucked the two menus out. He was about to flip through them when a man walked up to him behind the bar. “Hey man, what can I get for ya?” the bartender drawled, and Rick jerked his head up, blinking at the blonde haired man. The man had sandy blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an ugly burn scar that ran down the left side of his face, tugging at the skin there grotesquely. He wore a black leather vest that hung a little loose on his thin shoulders, the clothing a bit too big for his wiry frame. He wore a plain brown shirt on under that along with blue jeans and brown work boots.

His long hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, with two locks of hair falling down over each side of his face. Currently he had a fresh cocktail glass in his hand as he walked up to Rick, smiling a crooked smile due to his disfiguration. He had slightly yellowed teeth, but over all seemed pretty genuine, and Rick smiled a little at him, “Are you ‘D’?” The man tilted his face to the left, frowning a little, his eyebrows creasing, “I don’t know, why do you need ‘im?” “David at the door said to ask for him. I’m applying for a job here, and came to interview for it,” Rick said without hesitation, blinking at him. 

Dwight blinked, looking the newcomer up and down, “Uh huh. . .” 

It was then that a good natured grin broke out over the bartender’s face, and he held out a hand firmly to him, now holding the glass and the towel he’d been using to clean it in one hand, “In that case, name’s Dwight, or D, for short. Have you worked in other dungeons before?” Rick blushed, having already grasped the man’s hand in a firm shake, and knew that he had to be completely red from his forehead to his shoulders. He hadn’t expected such forwardness about what the place really was from the man. 

“I don’t see how that would matter, as I’m applying for the BARTENDER position,” he managed once he found his voice again. He didn’t want to act like it bothered him that this was the second person at the place to assume he would be better off applying to be a part of anything other than that. Now Dwight blinked at him, surprised, “Oh, ok. Sorry man, just figured. . . you kinda have a look about you.”

Rick grit his teeth, and clearly sensing the awkwardness in the air between them, the blonde haired man held up a finger to him, and turned to a small radio at his side, Rick noting for the first time the earpiece in his ear as Dwight pressed one of the many buttons on the radio, lifting it up to his lips, “Don’t worry man I’ll get the big guy down for ya,” the man said quickly, then, to someone Rick couldn’t hear, he spoke directly into the radio. “Negan? Sir?” there was a pause, and Rick grit his teeth upon hearing the monster’s name. 

Negan. The man who was in charge of this place, who allegedly had taken the sex dungeon’s practices past those which were still within the limits of the law, was talking to the man before him, was about to interview Rick, was about to be face to face with him! The monster who he planned to be a part of the take down of was being called to speak with him. It made his stomach feel way too heavy, and made a chill run down his spine.

If Rick tensed, Dwight didn’t notice or didn’t take special note of it, as he looked at the ceiling as he continued to talk to the man,“Yeah, we got a guy down here wantin’ to interview for the bartending position. . . yes sir, alright, I’ll tell him. Sorry for interrupting sir. . .” with that Dwight turned to Rick and flashed him another smile, releasing the button on the radio and putting it back in its clip on holder on his belt, “Negan’ll be down in fifteen minutes, Mr. . . .” 

“Nick, sir, Nicholas Parker,” Rick said quickly, trying to push his anxiety aside. Dwight smiled at him, “Well, Mr. Nick, while you wait feel free to peruse our menus,” he motioned to the two laminated menus already in Rick’s hands, “Just let me know what you would like to drink, ok?” Rick nodded, and turned to study the first menu. And was mortified almost instantly.

It wasn’t one’s typical food menu. In contrast the options on it referred to sensual acts leading up to but not crossing the line into sex. His blush deepened, and he flipped through it. First there was the typical Strip Club amenities. Then the reader headed into the more BDSM side of things, with prices starting off being listed with the amount it would take to spend time with each worker, ranging from thirty minutes to a full three hours, prices apparently varying based on the overall rating and experience level of each worker. 

There were apparently three types of sex dungeon workers: Dominants, Switches, and Submissives. In spite of being grouped into categories, each appeared to have their own individual descriptions of what they specialized in. After the lists of workers, there was a list of add ons, complete with pictures and diagrams. The prices for said additions ranged from $10 to well over $100, and apparently there were lists included in the descriptions of the add-ons to let one know which workers would be compatible with each one. 

Rick grit his teeth even harder together at the lewd pictures and descriptions, the small portion at the back of the menu that said that no actual sexual intercourse was allowed in the establishment and that safe words for either the clients or the workers were to be agreed upon beforehand and strictly followed not helping ease his mind regarding the perverse menu. It didn’t matter to him that severe consequences were promised for failure to follow the rules set out by the establishment. It was still all just too much for him. Rick shuddered, slapping it closed and setting it on the bar, pushing it safely two bar stools away before turning back to the drink menu.If there was one thing he would never understand, it was how anyone could possibly be into stuff like this. . . this Negan guy, whether he was guilty or innocent of what the caller had claimed was going on, was one weird guy.


	2. A Master At His Craft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan's finishing up with a client just as he hears of a new applicant for the bartending position. Is this guy going to be a narc like the rest, and if so, will Negan keep him around or boot him out the door like all the others?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I want to thank everyone for the encouragement given regarding this story! This chapter is actually a little longer than the last one, believe it or not, and I hope you enjoy it!

The opaque curtains on the windows of room 4E blocked out any sounds or light from the city beyond the walls of The Sanctuary. That not only kept the city out, but the secrets of the room and its occupants in, which was just the way the clientele of the BDSM dungeon preferred things.

The room had smooth dark oak hardwood floors that gleamed in the red light cast by the ten recessed lighting fixtures of the black popcorn ceiling. The dark onyx expanse spread out above the room where secret desires were realized to where it met the burgundy crown molding that ran along the edge between it and the black and red damask that wrapped around the walls in a firm hug, the lighting and color theme of the room creating a sensual atmosphere.

A black painted oak Saint Andrew’s cross stood firmly between two of the large black curtained windows, covered in black leather with black leather cuffs at the wrist and ankle points of the cross, each cuff padded with red dyed wool so that while the subject would feel the tightness of the cuffs when wearing them, their skin wouldn’t suffer any permanent damage. Along with the cross, a black wrought iron bed sat with its headboard against another wall of the room, the well laundered red silk sheets lying across it smooth and unblemished, cuffs matching those of the cross dangling from the headboard and footboard rods. 

Also occupying the room was a long black trunk set against the wall beside a black painted door with a red frame that matched the crown molding of the ceiling. The trunk held a number of salves, massage oils, sensual candles, and toys. An ipad in a black leather case sat face down on top of the trunk, so that should a notification come through on it, the screen wouldn’t illuminate the black painted wall racks that were in the room as well.

The numerous racks held tools and toys that ranged from feather dusters to tight bundles of bondage rope to whips to paddles to canes. A dark oak teacher’s desk along with a black leather padded dark oak chair sat directly in the left corner of the room from its main door and a sex sling hanging in a black wrought iron frame on wheels sat to the direct right of the door, beside a dark wooden spanking bench. 

To anyone who was into BDSM, the room offered a plethora of options to satisfy their needs, while the supply room down the hall contained enough items that could be transferred to the room just in case the room’s items weren’t quite enough. Right at that moment, the visitor of the room only appeared to need use of one thing, from which he was suspended, spread eagled and vulnerable for the world to see him as he hung in the center of the room. 

The sandy haired man hung his head forward, his wet bangs moving against his sweaty forehead as he did so, a black opaque blindfold over his usually calculating dark grey eyes and a bit gag firmly in place between his well maintained teeth. The man had a leaner build with plenty of muscle tone to make him look attractive without crossing the line into being a total bodybuilder. 

His dark rosy nipples-held captive in tight nipple clamps that had black onyx stone weights attached- sat against his two pectorals. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath he took, a light dusting of blonde hair forming a light colored patch on it before trailing down his stomach to his crotch. There his balls and cock were held firmly in a vibrating cock ring so that they were sticking out from his body so that anyone could just come in and see him hanging there as naked as the day he was born. 

The man shivered as the sensation from the cock ring and that knowledge made his cock heavy and his balls tense, the organs red and irritated from lack of proper release over the past hour or so. He grunted, tugging at the black padded cuffs on his wrists which attached him to the long horizontal post that hung from black wrought iron chains set firmly into the ceiling of the room above him. The post was black painted wood with leather padding around it just in case the man banged against it, ensuring that no permanent damage would be done to his hands if he did so.

The post had already been adjusted with the man’s height in mind, the excess chains dangling from the hooks set into the ceiling and tapping against the taunter chains holding the man up. He’d been left there for a few minutes now, hanging so that just the tips of his feet brushed against the black, soft pad, five feet in length and width, that lay on the ground beneath him. 

Cool dark eyes watched the man hanging in the middle of the room, and the man in the shadows licked his lips, his body tightening in the power he felt at knowing he’d put the man in the restraints that he hung from. As the man’s body fought for climax once again, the naked male jerked, whining and moaning around the gag in his mouth, pleading for release. The silent onlooker watched as those well worked back muscles flexed, watched as the light red marks left by the soft braided leather flogger in his hand gleamed in the lights of the room, sweat pouring off the man’s body as his struggles became more adamant and desperate as he sought the release that his viewer refused to give just yet. The shadow man’s nostrils flared, smelling the pungent aromas of sex and need, and felt some more of his own blood move to his cock, the half hard member pressing against the fabric of his boxers. 

It was a natural reaction and one that he would never be ashamed of on the clock or off it, and he was hardly surprised it was happening now. In fact if he wasn’t so used to viewing such an erotic scene, he would be jizzing his pants, partially because of the natural beauty that came from a human giving into their needs instead of hiding them, and partially because he had a hand in creating such a powerful realization. The man in the room moaned out long and hard as he was unable to fully enjoy the orgasm, the only thing leaking out of the slit in his cock being more of his pearly precum, and sagged again, whining pathetically as he hung his head forward, his body twitching. That was the fourth one, if Negan counted correctly. Damn, the poor sap was desperate for release today. . . practically gagging for it. But good things came to those who waited. That was the rule that Negan lived by . . .when it came to his sessions, anyway. 

Frowning, tilting his folded arms up, he pulled back the cuff of his prestigious leather jacket and looked at the digital watch on his wrist. . . 15 minutes left. Hell, he might as well finish the man. Sucking in a deep, quiet breath, he took a gentle step forward. Negan made sure to keep his steps light as he approached him, his nostrils taking in the strengthening scent of the man’s need as he went, and held back the groan as that made his cock harden even more as he saw those muscles rippling beneath that perfect skin, only marred by the marks Negan himself had put there. His single gloved right hand tightened hard around the flogger. Damn, he wanted to mark the man some more. . . And the fact that the man wanted the same thing he did only made the scenario that much hotter. It made his heart beat a little bit faster, made his blood rush in his veins in a way it never truly had prior to him arriving in Atlanta.

When he was about three feet from the man and was about to step right onto the portion of the mat behind him, Negan pressed his lips together and curved his tongue, letting a long whistle pass through the air. The man before him immediately tensed and moaned, tugging at the bar once more. Negan’s eyes watched every move the man made, taking every twitch and every sway into account as he slowly approached him. When he was finally close enough, he reached out with his bare left hand and his fingertips just barely touched the man’s side. The immediate response was a jerk away, before the man groaned and leaned into the touch, trusting the man behind him who’d spent the last hour berating him for unknown evils that he claimed he knew the man had done as he’d flogged him and abused his bound nipples.

Negan chuckled, “Yep, that’s it. Relax, you know I only do what I do for your own good, you little shit,” he slurred in a deep, husky voice that he knew drove the man wild. Negan chuckled warmly as the man moaned and bucked his hips from that alone, and began to gently massage the muscles on the man’s side before slowly walking around him, eyes on those quivering arms and that tight, tense ass. As he moved, his hand slid slowly along the small of the man’s back, and from there moved up his spine, gradually massaging it as well. As he went, the man curved into that touch, groaning and begging for more. Negan let his groan come out in a growl as the area between his legs became a little heavier. He’d be lying if the reactions of the other male weren’t making him aroused. It gave him a heady sense of power as he walked around him slowly, and as Negan moved, he let the black and red strands of his six strand flogger trace along the mat, making a soft hissing sound, “You know, I wouldn’t have to fucking do this to you every time if you could just behave,” he continued to slur in that same dark voice, “But you’re just such a BAD boy, you practically beg for me to punish you. . . don’t you boy?” The man quivered, and Negan moved to his front, smirking at his blindfolded, gagged face. 

The man’s face was bright red, sweat trickling from his hair down those handsome, angular features, and anyone else would think that he was uncomfortable, what with how his body twitched and how he panted and moaned around the gag. But one quick glance at his crotch told Negan that he was enjoying every moment of what was going on just as much as the Dom, as copious amounts of precum leaked out of the end of his erect cock, “Look at you,” Negan slurred, eyes going half lidded as he chuckled, sliding his bare hand away and putting the flogger into it before reaching up and gripping the man’s throat in his gloved hand. 

The man gulped hard, his Adam’s apple moving against that controlled grip, and Negan sucked in a deep breath of his own that came out in a purr, before moving his fingertips down to the man’s crotch, sliding the cool leather along it when he got there and making the man whine and buck hard into the gentle touch, it not being quite enough and yet so much for him, “You’re even worse than I thought you were, you know,” Negan muttered as if disappointed, using the back of his throat to make sure his voice rumbled in a way that made the man shiver, before sliding his now precum coated fingertips up the other’s stomach and to his lips, gripping his jaw firmly before sliding his thumb in between those pale pink lips, “Even with your punishment, you’re aching and hard for more. WHATEVER am I gonna do with a bad, misbehaved slut like you?” 

He felt the man’s tongue flick out to lick at the precum on his finger, and he grinned, bearing harder down on the man’s lower set of teeth as his gaze darkened, leaning forward and breathing his warm breath on the man’s face, “I guess I’ll just have to keep trying to beat some sense into you, now won’t I? Unless of course, you want to tell me the horrible thing you and I both know you need to be punished for?” 

The man moaned and shook his head, dislodging the darker haired male’s finger in the process. Negan chuckled in a way he knew sounded menacing, and leaned closer, his hand sliding down to the man’s neck to grip it firmly again, “Yeah, I didn’t fucking think so. When ARE you going to fucking learn to just tell me what you did wrong? I know what you did, you know what you did, you could always just make things so much goddamn easier if you just came clean, you dirty little bad boy. . .still,” he flicked out his tongue against the man’s cheek, making him whimper and shiver at the sensual touch as he traced his tongue up a line of salt caused by his client’s sweat, “It sure is a hell of a lot of fun to watch you writhe behind my flogger, you little shit.”

With that he fully released the man after giving his neck a gentle squeeze, and took two big steps back, “You better fucking count now,” he growled out, transferring his item over to the other hand and flicking the flogger, making the straps of it slap against his leather biker boots, making the man before him jump at the sudden sound. “Even with that goddamn gag, I’ll know if you don’t, you sad, sorry fucker,” Negan slurred, before pulling his arm back, and letting the first hit fly, striking the man hard against his already over sensitive nipples, making him cry out and arch against the hit, but not away from him. 

Instead the man curved towards Negan, moaning as the pain subsided into the passion he needed, begging for more. “Count, you pain glutton,” Negan bit out, pouring every ounce of disgust he could into the words even as his pride was added to by the man’s need for him, “Or I’ll flog you double!” The man moaned, but mumbled a barely recognizable “One” through the gag, flexing his fingers as he hung in the air. Negan smirked, “Good boy. Now, you gonna tell me? I could stop this right now if you want. . .” The man shook his head firmly, and Negan let another dark chuckle roll past his lips, “Fine boy. I have all fucking day.” With that he pulled back his hand again, and struck harder this time, making the new marks criss cross the quickly fading older ones. 

The man arched again, crying out the muffled “Two!” Negan chuckled, and aimed the next move at the man’s crotch after asking him again and once again having the man reject his request. He’d long since learned how to spank and flog hard enough to create a powerful sensation that wouldn’t leave lasting marks. And as the man continued to count, arching and writhing beautifully in the bonds Negan had put him in, his toenails scraping against the mat as he swayed but neither of his hands ever curling into a fist and knocking three times, which served as his safeword when gagged, Negan continued to ask for him to admit what he did, with the same response each time. 

So the flogger continued to swing, with Negan even having to switch arms a few strikes through. He had been at this for an hour, after all, and no matter how much he himself worked out outside of his time at The Sanctuary, his arms would get tired every now and again. But it was all worth it as Negan watched as the front of the man’s body was marked with long red stripes that upon forming quickly began to fade back into his perfectly tanned skin. It was the greatest show on earth as he watched the man’s pleasure and need manifest even more before him as he drove him to that place where the man found not just a release, but the ULTIMATE release. That was the release of control, letting one transition into pure pleasure and relaxation.

The blindfolded man continued to focus on the other’s words and the hits of the flogger, feeling his blood rushing in his ears, that speed only matched by the blood flow to his crotch. He ached with need, a sweet ache that was so divine and unique that he continued to shake his head to Negan’s questions. He needed to be pushed further, needed to continue to ride the waves of pain with pleasure as their foam, washing over him over and over. He heard the whistling of the braided leather, perfectly in time with his own moans. Whistling, then counting, whistling, then counting. Each time already shaking his head to the other’s requests even before they rolled over the man’s lips. He felt the room fade away, and didn’t even feel the bar above him. It was like he was suspended in a space where it was just him, the other man, and that flogger striking against his body. He was being consumed by it, and felt a coolness creeping in at the edges of his mind. He had felt it multiple times, and was willing to give into that feeling again. . . that feeling that came only with that release of control, at being totally out of control and free all at once. . . suddenly a loud beep filled the air and the room was back, the bar was there. He whined long and low in time with the end of the beep, mentally scrabbling for that feeling again.

Negan grit his teeth, his arm lifted in mid swing, freezing up as he slowly turned to the speaker box with its light glowing bright red on the other side of the room, set into the wall at face height, glaring at it. The man moaned soft, his front bright red just like his back with its angry stripes, and sagged in his wrist cuffs, hanging forward. It pissed Negan off, to see the defeated look, to know how close the man had been to that perfect, sought after feeling, and to know how that one beep had ripped all of that away. It made him want to take all the speakers out of every goddamn room in the place when this happened, but he knew he couldn’t. They were there for security reasons. Still that didn’t piss him off any less. 

His actions had had the man flying, moaning and jerking his hips with each hit moments before, and his own cock pressed against his legs, promising that it would be at full mast if it were to be sprung free of its confines, due to not just the sensations he was picking up but due to the fact that he knew he had had the man THERE. Even without the man telling him, he had just KNOWN the man was there in that moment, in that special place called “subspace”. The man’s actions as well as the tears racing down his cheeks from under the blindfold were all the proof he needed. He could understand such a reaction. He hadn’t gone there as often as his clients, but he had visited “subspace” enough to know how that felt, that complete freedom gained from giving up control. It was heady and easily addictive.

Which made him HATE being interrupted when he was trying to get someone to that place. In that moment of the loud beep, the special feeling was lost between him and the other. It wasn’t fair to any client whose session was interrupted by it and it detracted from their whole experience, since in his mind that release was the whole point of them coming to him. Now his mind whirred with a way to save the moment, even as he knew that the person who had interrupted him was waiting for him on the other line. ‘You can wait,’ he thought firmly to the unknown caller, quickly flipping through his mental files of the man hanging before him, trying to find a way to salvage the moment even as it continued to slip away. Then he smirked, finding the perfect one.

Turning to the man, he chuckled, “Sorry, but that’s an IMPORTANT phone call. I’ve been waiting on it all damn day,” he slurred in that same deep husky tone, “It’s FAR MORE IMPORTANT than punishing you for your horrible antics, so you’ll understand that I’ll have to take it.” Turning he marched firmly across the room, making sure the other male heard his boots as they thwacked against the floor. Thank god for his awesome memory. He hadn’t used the ignoring technique on this man, at least not verbally, for a while. Luckily, while it wasn’t the main way the man got off and found release, it still turned him on, and should be enough to hold him over until Negan could continue with what had really been getting him close. . . The client was an important business man, used to everyone making time for him. Which meant that anyone ignoring him was such a novel experience that it automatically peaked his needs.

Negan took one last look of the man’s still hard crotch, and smirked, having reached the small speaker box in the wall, and flicked the flogger against his leg again, making a loud crack sound in the room. The man jumped, moaning weakly as Negan chuckled loudly, “While I’m on the phone, why don’t you decided to fucking just tell me what the hell you did wrong, BOY. Before I have to flog you again.” The man whined and bucked softly at the need that filled him at Negan’s words. Negan smirked. Yep, he always had that magic touch. . . turning, he pressed his pointer finger of his bare hand against the black button set beneath the speaker, “Yep, Negan here, what’s up? I’m in a goddamn session so this better be pretty motherfucking important,” he growled out into the microphone pad just above where his finger pressed the button down, opening up both channels in the device, letting him speak to the other person and also hear what they were saying back to him. 

After a slight pause Dwight’s voice came rattling over the line, and Negan frowned, his eyebrows creasing. If it was a problem with the goddamn bar, it could have certainly waited until he came back downstairs. . .or Simon could deal with it. He WAS manager over that shit. . . “Yeah, we got a guy down here wantin’ to interview for the bartending position.” Negan sighed and closed his eyes. Even though this definitely was something he was going to do, as he performed all interviews for the place, D could have definitely waited a little longer to tell him about it. But then again, Dwight never had the best timing. . . thank god he had this type of client right now.

Lifting his head back up, Negan sighed, “Fine, I gotta wrap up here anyway. . .” he glanced at the watch on his wrist, noting that he was already only 1 minute away from the session needing to end. ‘Fuck, was taking longer than I thought,’ he thought, and reaching up with the gloved hand, he held the flogger in his palm as his pointer finger pushed on the small alarm button of the device. When the alarms of the watch went off, it would normally send a silent vibration into his wrist, just in case he was running over in a session and needed the silent alarm more than a louder one.

Turning back to the speaker box, he leaned closer, “I should be down in about fifteen, D, but it might be later than that still. Just tell ‘im to sit tight till I get there, ok? Get his name for me too. . .” He’d look up the guy’s resume on his way down via his Ipad, so that once he made it to the Strip Club part of the building he would be ready for the interview. “Yes sir, alright, I’ll tell him. Sorry for interrupting sir. . .” Dwight said quickly, as if fearful of wasting any more of Negan’s time, and Negan sighed, waiting for a moment as he heard the radio jostling about and heard Dwight’s voice, fainter this time, speaking again, this time to whoever was waiting on the man,“Negan’ll be down in fifteen minutes, Mr. . . .Well, Mr. Nick-” 

Negan blinked and removed his finger, cutting the line off before turning back to his main focus, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his arms out, getting back into his correct mindset for the sake of the man before him, “Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right. We were going to see if you could be a BIG GODDAMN BOY!” he belted out the last words in a way that made everything in the room rattle, and moved forward, beginning to swing the leather flogger in the air in a pinwheel fashion, his arm low enough so that each downward turn sent it against the floor of the room, making loud popping noises that made the man before him twitch and jump, whimpering softly, “NOW, TELL ME. . . “ 

He was then right in front of the man, smirking at his still tear soaked face, “What did you do wrong, Kenny?” he slurred softly, his warm breath hitting that sweet, sweat covered skin. He felt the naked cock between them jump up and brush against his grey jean clothed leg, just inches from where his now half hard cock pressed against his gray jeans, and he smirked softly, “You wanna tell me what you did wrong now?” he slurred in that husky tone, “I won’t be mad. . . probably. . .”

The man moaned weakly, and as Negan reached up with a gloved hand, flicking a strand of hair away from his cheek before moving those leather fingertips closer to his mouth, shook his head. Negan growled softly, pressing his thighs firmly against the man’s own, pushing against his cock and applying that extra pressure, “Oh really? Still so tough, huh? Maybe I didn’t fucking hit you hard enough,” he slurred, before jerking forward, for all intents and purposes slamming against the man’s cock. The man cried out around the gag, before Negan popped the wet, slobbery bit free with his fingers to fall against his collarbone before grasping his cheeks firmly in that same hand, so that the man’s mouth remained open. 

Leaning forward, Negan let his lips remain about half an inch from the other’s, and closed his eyes, his lips open a little, the man’s shuddering, ragged breathing leaving his lips and entering into the man holding him. Negan felt the power of that, felt the power of the man’s skin trembling beneath his own, felt the cock, in spite of the discomfort the man felt, jerk against him, smearing more precum along his jeans. It was something he lived for, and made the blood rush to his cock yet again. He reached up with the flogger and pressed the blunt end of it hard against a nipple, pushing into it and making the man moan even louder.

“Are you really not gonna tell me, boy?” he slurred, his warm breath passing from him into the man before him, clenching his jaws tighter before he moved around the man, his hand moving from holding his cheeks to cradling his jaw, before he moved up behind him, dropping the flogger and reaching around the man’s hips with his leather hand, sliding his fingertips down that thick, red, angry cock that was ready to explode, and began to massage it and pump it firmly, “You know, if you fucking tell me, I’ll let you come, you sorry shit,” he growled out into the man’s ear, his teeth just brushing the outer lobe, and the man whimpered and bucked into the hand on his cock. 

 

Negan smirked, and continued to murmur in his ear, moving his bare hand up to begin to run through the man’s perfectly dyed and styled locks of hair, “You know I already know the naughty things you do Kenny, I know everything about your fucking sorry ass. That’s why you come to me, so I can punish you for all the horrible things I know you deserve to be hurt for. So just go ahead and fucking tell me boy, or I might just keep you strung up like this forever.” with that he gave him a painful jerk with both hands, and the man moaned loudly, mouth open in a gasp as he arched again, bucking into the hand that caused him pleasure and pain, “I-I. . .”

“Yes?” Negan slurred softly, licking his outer lobe slowly, sensually, in a way that made him shudder. “I. . . I put an out of order sign on the stall in the bathroom at work,” the man whispered softly. Negan frowned, eyebrow crinkling. What the fu- “It’s my favorite one, and I’ve goddamn earned the right to keep it as my own,” the man continued, “So I put a goddamn out of order sign on it so only I will use it. Fucking watched a man nearly go the other day when I was washing my hands. . . all the other stalls were full, along with the urinals. . . In a way, I wanted to see him piss on the floor, just so I could tell him to clean it up,” the man gasped as Negan chuckled, and continued to pump harder. 

“Please, Please,” he whispered hoarsely, “Please give it to me, sir, please!” Negan tsked his tongue, shaking his head, letting his peppered beard move over the man’s shoulder and make him shudder more, “No, no. . . I gotta tell ya Kenny, that was one horrible thing, what you did. You should have just let that man have his release. Why the fuck should I give you one right now if you couldn’t afford the man his?” The man cried out and shook his head, “ Master please!” Negan smirked, having brushed up against a small button on the cock ring that made it up in it’s speed. The man began to writhe even more, tears streaking down his cheeks as he bucked and thrust into Negan’s hand repeatedly, “Please!” he screamed, his need in his voice, “P-please, please, Master, sir, please!” he all but begged of the dominant behind him, “I’ll take the sign down, just PLEASE let me have my release!!!!” Negan growled, and bit the lobe lightly, still not enough to leave a mark, before murmuring into it, “You’re gonna fucking do that, you little shit, and I want you to WALK up to that poor man and admit what you did. I want you to BEG him to forgive you, just like you’re begging me for repentance right now.” “YES, YES, ANYTHING MASTER! PLEASE!” the man cried. “Then I only have one thing to ask of you. Say my name,” Negan growled out softly in his ear, even as his own hard on pressed between the man’s ass cheeks. “N-NEGAN!” the man wailed.

In one move, as he brought his hand back against the man’s balls, Negan unlocked the cock ring, sliding his hand quickly down the man’s cock and squeezing the head hard, just as the cum came forth and the man jerked hard as he was finally allowed to fully climax. The board rattled above them in its chains as he jerked his tight fists against the cuffs, arching, his feet shooting out from under him for a moment, the backs of his calves banging against Negan’s own firmer legs as he bucked and writhed as he continued to shoot streams of pearly come into the air.

Negan grunted as the swinging body collided with his own, having wisely moved his head away before the man came. A head butting was not what either needed right now, after all. He staggered a few steps back and forth as the man swung but other than that was able to stand his ground as Kenny came hard, bucking and crying out and moaning in his release until finally, he hung limp in the cuffs again, sobbing softly as he released all the tension in his body. Negan leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to the man’s shoulder, breathing hard against his skin, “Good Boy, Kenny. I’m proud of you.”

In no time he had pulled the dark wooden chair over from the large desk in the room and sat it firmly on the padded floor before the bound man. “Ok, Kenny, lean back against me and I’ll get you down,” Negan murmured in a soft voice, moving behind him and looping his long, thick arms underneath the client’s armpits, began to unfasten the cuff around his right wrist. Kenny groaned, his arm flopping down over Negan’s own right arm, sagging against the man behind him as he moved to the left side, the tears having stopped but the man’s breathing still coming in weak, shallow breaths. It let Negan know he’d once again done his job VERY well. 

As he released the left wrist, the man all but fell back on him, and grunting as the man’s sweaty skin pressed against his black leather jacket, he staggered forward slightly and laid him flopped over the back of the chair chair, his chest pressing against the padded top of the chair’s back frame. Glancing at his watch, Negan grit his teeth. He was only three minutes from when he’d said he was going to meet this Nick guy, but there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to give the man before him the aftercare he needed. 

Deciding that if the man downstairs wanted the bartending gig he would be willing to wait for Negan, the dark haired man reached into the left, large pocket of his jacket, pulling out a plastic round disc containing a healing salve for the other man’s back. Unscrewing the top of it, he let the eucalyptus mint scented salve’s smell fill the air before scooping up the slightly green tinted salve into his bare hand’s fingers and turning, pressed the tips of those fingers against one of the redder marks that remained on the man’s back. Leaning down, he sighed deeply, and began to move his fingers around in a massaging motion. The male before him tensed almost immediately as the sensitive skin was touched, before groaning and relaxing into that touch, “Damn, if you ever needed another job, you should become a massage therapist,” he flopped his head forward, pressing his chin into the chair as the fingers continued to scoop up some more salve before massaging it firmly into his muscles, helping them relax. 

Negan chuckled, a slow smile crossing his face. He knew all too well that at least a quarter of the job of a Professional Dominant was aftercare. Sure, some dungeons only focused on the first part of the visit, but Negan always stressed with ALL of his Switches and Dominants how important this part was for the client. And for the worker, even. It was a way for both to have their adrenaline lower to an appropriate level, and the more he himself continued to massage the man before him, he felt his hard on slowly deflate. Which was a good thing, he wasn’t going to have enough time to jack off before his damn interview, and he certainly didn’t want to appear for that with his cock bulging in his new pants, since he would have to change his jeans out due to the cum stains now donning them. 

As he found a particularly hard knot on the man’s right shoulder, he began to knead a little harder, earning a long keening sound from the client flopped over his chair. “Fuuuuck, that’s good, I swear, your fingers are magical. . . not that anything else you do isn’t. . .” Negan chuckled softly, “I doubt I’m as great as you think I am. Maybe you just haven’t gone to many masseuses?” “That is true,” the man chuckled, “Maybe I should go looking elsewhere.” Negan chuckled darkly, patting the man’s ass lightly before closing the salve and sliding it back into his pocket, “You go do that and come back. Maybe you can teach me something.” Leaning forward, he plucked the blindfold off of the man’s head. Kenny leaned back a little off of the back of the chair, flexing his arms and cracking his back a little as Negan wrapped his arms around him, taking off the nipple clamps slowly and earning even more groans and moans from the other. “I doubt that there’s much more you have to learn, if there is anything at all, seriously. By the way, I’m running out of that salve at home, add it to my bill?” Kenny slurred.

“Of course,” Negan remarked calmly, turning and walking to the black trunk in the room. Picking his ipod up off of it, sliding his gloved hand into a black hand strap on the back of it, he blinked down at it, bringing up the page that had the man’s bill already pulled up on it. For his hour long session, Kenneth Maddox, one of the most successful businessmen in the city, already owed $800, $400 for each half hour, to Negan. Leaning down and opening up the trunk he found a brand new cannister of salve in a side pocket. Leaning back up and closing the trunk with his boot, holding the salve between the hand that held the ipad’s fingers and the ipad itself, he moved his bare hand back to the screen, blinking as the screen lit up his face in a white glow that stood out due to its contrast with the red lights of the dimly lit room. Quickly tapping a drop down menu as he turned and moved back to the man still sitting in the chair, the man’s grey eyes watching the owner of the dungeon as he moved, he quickly added a fresh salve on for $15 before turning and marching back across to the man.

As he moved, Kenneth couldn’t help but take in the sight of the Dominant he’d been coming to for about 2 years for the sweet release he was convinced only Negan could offer him. All of his adult life, he always felt like he had to put up such a brave, strong front, to his job, his social circles, and even his family of one wife and two now teenage daughters. It had not only taken a lot out of him, it had also made him unable to enjoy sexual relations with his wife to the point where their marriage had become strained. Then he’d been recommended by a friend to The Sanctuary, and told to specifically ask for the man who now walked towards him. 

When he had first seen Negan at 6’6” with his black hair slicked back with silver streaks along the sides of it, his thick yet well groomed and cut short peppered beard framing that strong angular face, his black biker jacket of the finest leather wrapped firmly around a frame that was obviously well built and maintained regarding it’s muscularity, his grey jeans that hugged his body in all the right places, and his black boots that demanded respect as they moved confidently along the floor beneath him, he had been both awestruck and wary.

But as he’d first talked to Negan, every word the man spoke not only soothed him and reassured him that he respected the businessman, but also held that hidden promise that Kenneth would be in good, safe, confidential hands with him. That feeling, along with the intense look that Negan was able to manage even in their first talk with him, swirling about in those dark obsidian eyes of his, were enough to cause him to want to at least try the Dom out. 

He’d only had one thirty minute session with Negan after that talk, and at first glance it was a relatively simple one, especially when looking back on it now. It had only consisted Negan spanking him on his ass with his bare hand. But that skin on skin contact had both turned him on and reduced him to tears as Negan had held him firmly on his lap, demanding that Kenneth confess to real or imagined wrongs that Negan claimed Kenneth had done over his life. Like a man who had rehearsed his lines a million times, he acted as if he already knew each one, as if the point of it all was just to have Kenneth confess to them like a child whose parent already knew what he did wrong, just like Kenneth had asked him to do. And in spite of the sense of embarrassment that was SUPPOSED to make him feel, it only served to really make the client harder and harder as he approached a sort of climax he hadn’t felt in months.

Anytime Kenneth had been close to that edge and ready to come but hadn’t “confessed enough”, Negan would make his hits lighter and softer, making him groan and squirm as he continued to count them off, the business man’s fingers digging into Negan’s legs. Negan didn’t react to any of it though, clearly letting Kenneth know who was in charge. Finally after Kenneth had confessed enough, the man had continued to spank him in harder swats until finally, he’d reached down and pinched that aching, precum leaking cockhead. It had been quick, intense, and oh so satisfying as he’d come against Negan’s jeans. He had nearly fallen off of the man’s lap, and certainly would have if Negan hadn’t been as strong as he was. He would have felt horribly embarrassed afterwards if Negan hadn’t reassured him with soft words as he’d massaged that miraculous salve into his red hot ass. Ever since, he’d been hooked.

In their sessions, he knew he was the man’s center of attention, and he trusted Negan more and more as he continued to hand himself over to the man for what he felt was the best damn therapy he could receive. Not only did it help him relieve himself of so much tension, it had also improved his love life drastically, like that tight hold on control had literally been the cockblock that Negan, in one hour, was able to fully remove for him.

Now those obsidian eyes gazed down on the man’s ipad before flitting back up to him, a soft smile crossing the face that had been talking so dark and sultry to him moments before, “Alright, it’s added in there, here you go, Mr. Maddox.” Kenneth smiled and took the offered salve. Not only did he love it, his wife did as well. He still kept his children in the dark about his visits to The Sanctuary for obvious reasons, but when he’d asked Negan about one week into his visits what the man honestly advised him do regarding Sharon, Negan had said that while it was his decision, he often saw that clients experienced more relaxation and less stress when they simply spoke to their significant others about their activities. 

Kenneth had been beyond nervous regardless of that reassurance, but had gone ahead and spoken to his wife. She’d been skeptical, even as he had assured her that The Sanctuary never crossed that line into true sex, and had begged for her to understand. He loved her after all, and didn’t want to give her or the quickly addictive release he felt at The Sanctuary, up. Rather than outright reject or accept his needs, she’d said she wanted to speak to the man he called Negan. She’d come to The Sanctuary and had spoken to Negan and, well, the fact that he still came and she and he were still together-and in fact better than ever sensually- were testament to how well Negan had eased her mind.

“Thank you, for fitting me in today,” Kenneth breathed, eyes falling on the ipad as it was held before his face, gripping the salve tightly, “I have a fucking international board meeting video conference tonight and this was just what I fucking needed.” Negan smiled softly as the man added his standard $50 tip to his bill, his credit card already in The Sanctuary’s protected computer system, before using his finger to sign in confirmation of the payment, “No worries, I always make time for my clients if I can. And I’m glad I could help you out. If you’d like, as always, feel free to use the bathroom,” he motioned to the bathroom nearby, the black door with red molding near his trunk, “To get ready for the meeting, Mr. Maddox. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I do have an interview that I myself am running a little late for.” Kenneth chuckled and stood up, as Negan moved the ipad to be under his arm, and met the man’s eyes, his own still bloodshot from his tears, “Isn’t it that the other person is too early when you’re the Dominant?” 

Negan chuckled, smirking at him, eyes twinkling jovially, “I suppose so. Now, since you didn’t originally have this visit scheduled, should I take another one off this week?” Normally Maddox came every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday at the same time like clockwork. But there were times when he felt the urge to have that release in between his scheduled appointments, like today, Wednesday, and as a result so that it didn’t cause an extra payment, they usually just shaved off another day. Kenneth grit his teeth and shook his head, “Nah, got a lot more meetings this week.. Just keep me scheduled like we already have it and I’ll let you know if I need to cancel later on?” Negan nodded, smiling calmly at the man. Normally the idea of such a late cancellation would tick him off, but Maddox had been coming like clockwork for so long he was willing to allow for a slight change in schedule, “Of course. Have a great day and good luck tonight, Mr. Maddox.” Kenneth smiled and took the hand offered, gripping it firmly, “Have a good one yourself, Sir.” 

Negan chuckled and turning, headed out of the room even as Maddox headed to the bathroom, the man already well versed with the facilities beyond the door. It had your standard stand up glass walled shower, with jets set into the pristine white tiled walls to massage the body and a rain shower head up above, three dispensers set into the white wall holding scentless shampoo and conditioner and Eucalyptus Mint shower gel. The white tile stretched the length of the room, and as Maddox entered he would find a slick white marble countertop to his left, a toilet with his clothes neatly folded upon it to his right with his blazer hanging on a hook above said toilet, and a cabinet full of fluffy white towels of all sizes along with some sensual bath toys and a hair dryer, shaving cream, comb, brush, razor, and after shave, the latter four in sealed packaging so that any worker who was taking out used items in the room to replace with newer ones could do so efficiently. 

Leaving Kenneth to the bathroom, which was always included in the overall bill for the session, Negan turned and headed out of 4E and into the long hallway that laid beyond, the walls long and burgundy in color, the slick hardwood floor continuing from 4E. As he went, he glanced at the small lights that were on the outsides of 4F, 4D, 4C, 4B, and 4A, each light centered above the black door frames to each room. Right now only 4A and 4E had lights that were green above their doors, being at opposite ends and sides of the hallway, whilst the other four had red lights, letting the people who would move down the hallway know that the green ones were occupied-even though Negan had finished his session, Maddox was still in the room-and the latter two were vacant. A quick check on his ipad let him know that Arat was in session in the soundproof 4A room. He only ever really needed to check his ipad to see who was currently working a room if 4A and 4B had green lights on, seeing as they were rooms not specified for any one Dominant in the building. 

Those two rooms were left up in the air for any Dominant or Switch to use, as long as the rooms were clean, and allowed for some wiggle room scheduling wise on busier days, like if a Dominant had to have two sessions essentially back to back but their room couldn’t be cleaned properly during that time. If needed, they could simply pick 4B or 4A if they were vacant and ready. Usually they were all scheduled in a way that meant that the extra rooms were always available when needed, even though each Dominant preferred their own room with their own specific furniture already inside, picked out by them for their special styles of BDSM work. 4A and 4B were much more of a blank canvas, the only equipment used in them available in the large supply room, which had once been another residential room in the building that currently sat across the wall from the two rooms. As Negan passed by 4A, he pushed open the door at the end of the hall that led to the wooden staircase of the building, a red carpeted, dark oak beauty of an area with exposed brick walls illuminated by the black wrought iron candelabras that hung in the Strip Club below surrounding it.

Moving down the steps quickly, the man passed from the fourth floor, which was primarily for Dominants but could be used by his Switches, to the third floor which was typically used by Submissives, and down past the now nonexistent second floor. As he went he pulled up Nicholas Parker’s resume in the folder where he put any and all resumes sent into The Sanctuary’s email.

Pushing through the door in the stairwell that led to the original first floor of the building, he moved out into yet another hallway similar to the one on the fourth floor. To his backside the smells of the kitchen and the sounds of the Strip Club could be heard, and he knew from the clock on his ipad that he was now 8 minutes late to meeting Mr. Parker. One quick glance at the cum marks on his jeans left by Maddox reminded him though that he better change before going to interview the man. Besides, he did need to put on some black dress shoes before his next client, who would be in in about an hour, at 4:30, got there, and dependent on how long the interview took he didn’t know if he’d have time to change in between the interview and the session. So he walked straight down the hallway, past the four black meeting room doors where the workers often met with clients prior to engaging in sessions or scheduling sessions. Those were also where he usually conducted interviews. He walked past them and the large grey door with its black frame that was his office, where he went over paperwork and had meetings with the “managers” beneath him, Regina and Simon, and straight on to the black door at the end of the hall that ran along the backside of the building.

As he approached, he quickly looked over Nicholas Parker’s resume. The resume had no photo, but from what he could read Parker was 26 years old-Negan raised a dark eyebrow at that. . . damn he’d been expecting someone a little bit older given the amount of experience he required- and had graduated from Georgia Tech three years prior with a major in Business Management and a 3.7 GPA. The kid had referenced the owners of the three bars he’d claimed to work for, the first being one that had actually been on the Georgia Tech campus, which made sense regarding most college students who were bartenders while partaking in studies, and the second two being nice bars in some of the more affluent and hipster neighborhoods of Atlanta.  
Simon had taken the liberty of calling each bar to confirm that Nick had worked at each one, and the kid had gotten pretty good reviews from all three owners. 

As Negan continued to scroll down the profile, he found that while the kid hadn’t been the best student grade wise in the private school he had attended in McDonough, he had engaged in some extracurricular activities like Track, Baseball, Debate Club, Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and Beta Club, and had still graduated with a 3.5 GPA there too. Overall, the kid seemed young, but perfect for the job. Negan shook his head and closed out of the ipad before letting his arm flop to his side. He would bet the tip Kenneth just gave him that with a cookie cutter resume like that, Nick Parker had to be a narc. 

Negan had had too many people masquerading either as applicants trying to be hired on or as reporters trying to get a story out of him turn out to be just that recently. It would be impossible not to suspect the kid. He sighed, rolling his eyes. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass, being able to read people just a few minutes into talking with them, and lately it had only grown as an irritant on his mind. It seemed every week for the past month he had at least one of the fucks show up on his doorstep, and honestly he had NO IDEA why the Police were so hot on him right now. Sure they probably didn’t approve of what he did, but he had gone over the law multiple times before even opening up the dungeon, even consulting with his well paid personal lawyer before the renovations were done to The Sanctuary, and he KNEW that nothing they did crossed that line enough to warrant an investigation. So why the fuck were they acting like The Sanctuary was some huge illegal operation now? He wished he knew the answer, and knew he was unlikely to get one, unfortunately. Regardless it was getting pretty damn annoying, and becoming a huge ass waste of his time to see and meet people who turned out to be nothing but some fucking spy trying to take him down regarding something HE KNEW he hadn’t done, no matter what that “something” was. 

A part of him wondered if the Police had received some false but intense information that had led to such a fervent attempt to take him down, and he’d started to be on alert with both clients and his workers, only adding to any tension already in the air regarding the attempted infiltration. Sure he tried not to let his irritation show, but sometimes even a Dominant as skilled as himself couldn’t help it. Maybe he should just let a fucking narc in, let them see that all that hard work was for nothing and that nothing against the law was going on. . . still, he couldn’t help but feel that that might be a way of betraying his workers. . . As he neared the door, he frowned, hearing a deep male voice on the other side. . . “And then he said ‘There ain’t no way in hell your dick’s bigger than mine!’ and I said ‘Oh yeah?! Have a goddamn look!’ and I dropped my pants and let him see for himself!”

He grit his teeth, frowning at the door’s wooden surface before gripping the handle of it and pushing into what was essentially the break room and locker room for the sensual workers of the place. Sure enough the balding, gray haired man standing with his back to him, talking to some of his workers, was Simon, his hands on the fabric of his brown khaki shirt as it laid loose over his thin hips, leaning back on the heels of his brown steel toed boots as he told his ego boost of a story to anyone who’d listen, wearing his worn and faded blue jeans.

Negan growled and closed the door, “Well, gotta say I’m surprised, Simon. Thought you were in the Kitchen, doing inventory and overseeing the service. Hello ladies,” he nodded in welcome to the other workers in the room. 

Immediately Simon turned, smiling at Negan with a beer held firmly in his hand. Negan set his jaw firmly at that. He was usually relatively lenient about shit like that, but Simon with the beer and IN THIS LOCKER ROOM wasn’t something he was happy about. “Ahhh, yeah, sorry big man, but you know,” Simon gave him a crooked smile and a shrug, “It ain’t like they can’t run a service without me and I just needed a break from counting pickles. That’s all!”

Negan gripped the ipad in his hand a little tighter, then relaxed his hold, tilting his head back, fixing Simon with a look that said he wasn’t playing around, “Well if you needed a break from inventory Simon, I’ve got something else for you to do,” he growled softly, “4E needs to be cleaned soon with a chair from the storage room on that floor put into it in the center. The horizontal suspension bar needs to be properly stored back underneath the Saint Andrew’s Cross inside the room and the mat there needs to be cleaned. I need all of this done within 45 minutes, while allowing twenty more minutes first for the room’s current occupant to finish with the facilities and leave. Handle that.” he finished firmly, making the statement clearly not a request. 

Simon frowned, instantly taking on a look that said he didn’t like the extra work, “Ok, once Jed and Fat Joseph are done with rooms 3B and 3C, I’ll send them there,” he nodded in affirmation. “Looks like you’re free right now,” Negan said, arching an eyebrow, “Why not hop to it?” Simon grit his teeth, his hand on the beer clenching at the no nonsense tone the man had, “I should really get back to the kitchen. . .” “I’m sure they can run a service without you,” Negan slurred, his lips turning up in a sideways smirk at the man. He didn’t mind drinking with Simon on occasion, and the man’s managerial duties were without question among the best, but sometimes the other did get a little bit too big for his britches. 

Simon tended to try to act like he was the man in charge instead of Negan, and Negan couldn’t have that, for various reasons. For one, Simon was a corner cutter if there ever was one if he was left to have his way with purchasing or delegating supplies, and in a business like The Sanctuary, cutting corners with cleaning supplies or food was not something you could just do, nor was it anything Negan would approve of. Furthermore, Negan specifically kept Simon away from the strippers, subs, and switches, given certain. . . events in the man’s past. Simon knew, as it had been a condition of his hiring on at the place that at all times, he was to use the breakroom at the OTHER end of the building along with any of the janitorial workers, kitchen staff, bar staff, or bodyguards, not the locker room used by the women and men whose primary jobs were to entertain guests. At the time Simon had stated that he understood, and if Negan was being honest, that break room was much more comfort minded anyway.

The one they currently stood in comprised of tall metal cabinets lining the walls of the room, all of them pitch black. Each cabinet took up the space that normally four school lockers would, and had the name of each worker on their specific ones in the form of a white nameplate. Two padded benches ran the length of the room in front of the two rows of cabinets, which contained most of the items used by the workers of The Sanctuary to get ready for their clients. At the other end of the room was a double vanity with a stand up shower on each side of it and a toilet stall on each side as well, along with a small washer and dryer wedged between the toilet stalls and the cabinets on each side, in case anyone had to quickly clean something.

The other worker break room was more of your typical break room, with two large couches sitting across from each other in the room, a set of smaller square lockers with each employee’s name and a padlock donning each one, a kitchenette area, two bathrooms that were completely closed off from the rest of the room, a snack vending machine, and a soft drink vending machine. In the center of that room was a large round table with chairs that employees could sit at and hang out around. Yes, the other break room had plenty of reason for Simon to go there should he need a break, and the rules were very clear on the matter of who was allowed in this one. Unfortunately, it appeared as though Simon had “forgotten” them though. 

For a moment Simon frowned at Negan, his eyes warring in their emotions: Negan could see that the stubbornness in Simon wanted to talk back with something snarky to say, but the part of Simon that had to respect Negan as his boss eventually won out and he sighed, rubbing the back of his head, “Yeah, guess you’re right. I’ll be going.” Negan frowned and nodded, turning and opening the door and letting Simon through ahead of him before following the man out into the hallway. Simon frowned, looking at him as Negan closed the door gently, “I expect that room to be completely clean,” he muttered, frowning at the man, “And I would advise that you not question me like that EVER again, understood?” Simon rolled his eyes and nodded, “This ain’t the first time I’ve cleaned a room for you man, I’ve got i-” he had just pushed hte beer into Negan’s hand, and was about to turn away from the man to walk down the hall, when Negan grabbed his wrist firmly, frowning hard at him and pushing the beer back into it, “Understood?” He remarked firmly, his dark eyes demanding the man’s respect. Simon grit his teeth, his own eyes gazing almost defiantly into Negan’s for a moment before he sighed, bowing his head, “Yes sir.” he bit out, gripping the beer firmly and turning, continued to walk down the hall. Negan frowned hard at the man’s back, and waited for him to be about halfway down teh hallway before. . . “And Simon?” 

Simon paused, but didn’t turn to look at Negan as he waited for what the man had to say. “This needs to be the last time that I find you in this break room. You have your own, and you know the rules. I hired you on because of your excellent managerial skills, overlooking . . . indiscretions in your past that most other people in my position wouldn’t. DON’T make me regret that decision,” Negan stated firmly, “You do that, managerial skills or not, you’ll be kicked out of this job faster than you can fucking blink, understand?” Simon nodded, a short, jerky movement, and continued to walk. “SIMON!” Negan snapped, glaring hard at the defiant man’s back. Simon stopped quicker this time, but still didn’t turn around. “I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!” Negan said loudly, the walls rattling a little, eyes narrowing to slits as he clenched his two fists, hearing any talking on the other side of the door quiet down due to the sound of his rage. Thank god they couldn’t hear him out on the Strip Club floor. . .

He tolerated many things, after all in his profession he had to, but disrespect on this level was something he would not tolerate, not from his own managers. “I understand,” Simon bit out. “Good. Now get upstairs,” Negan growled, before turning and pushing the door open to the locker room again and marching inside, cracking his neck as he did so. Yeah, Simon was an interesting one. . . he could make Negan laugh and relax, or he could make Negan irritated and raging.

The blonde haired girl closest to the door tilted her head out of her cabinet and smiled at him, “Hello Negan,” she murmured softly, her light blonde short cut with lowlights shining in the lights of the room. Negan smiled and nodded to her, his strict facade dropping immediately, “Hello Tina, how are you today?” Tina had just gotten in about an hour and a half ago, around the time Negan was heading to meet Maddox. The Submissive was going to college for a degree in journalism and as a result her hours at The Sanctuary were a little less regular than everyone else’s. Which Negan had no problem with, really. He knew how important schooling was, and wished all of his workers could better themselves in whichever way they saw fit. 

He just hoped that he didn’t fully lose one of his most promising Submissives in the process. Tina had only started about two months ago, recommended to Negan by her older sister Sherry, one of Negan’s strippers. Tina hadn’t had much experience, but the few times her and her partners had dabbled in BDSM, she’d apparently been a natural. In spite of the fact that she had had a lot of learning to do since joining The Sanctuary, regarding the rules of the dungeon and proper BDSM practices, and still preferred mostly sensation play and light impact play, she was loved and coddled by most of her clients and enjoyed her time with each one. Of course, most of the people she saw Negan and the other Submissives had screened before hand regarding their interests to help ease her more and more into the job position. Negan had a fierce protectiveness over all of his workers, no matter how independent they seemed outside of their roles. He never wanted anyone to be in a situation where they felt truly uncomfortable. Tina had been sure to let him know she was grateful for such thoughtfulness, and he was sure that in no time she would be just as good as Submissives with twice the experience, as each time she worked her experience and thresholds continued to rise.

Right now she was getting dressed in some knee high white stockings, some brown penny loafers, a red, green, and black plaid pleated skirt that only came halfway down her thighs, and a white button down, cut short with long ends that tapered in the front that, when tied in a knot, made it a mid-drift top. As he watched her she slid on a clip on bow that matched her skirt in her bangs, pulling them away from her face. As Negan walked past, she took two pieces of Dubble Bubble gum from her locker and unwrapping each popped them into her mouth, nodding at him as she began to chew on the gum. She was in her classic “Oops I Did It Again” outfit, as Negan called it. ‘Must be Daniels,’ he thought. 

Cliff Daniels was a client into light impact and age play. The man was a writer who had written a few successful stories, but ironically enough his least favorite teacher in high school had been his creative writing teacher. The woman had been a great teacher, but his writing style didn’t match her tastes so she always gave him very subjectively based low marks, and he had had a very bad addiction to bubble gum while in her class, something that she had expressly forbidden and given him demerits for, slamming her ruler into his desk top any time she saw him chewing a wad. 

Daniels wasn’t really a regular with The Sanctuary, but he’d been coming to see Tina a lot lately. He was a relatively easy client, most of his visits being ways to try to work through his intense writer’s blocks and other life issues. Lately Tina had been helping him with a horror story he was attempting, the sessions starting out with her being bent over a desk by him after spitting her gum out into his hand. There, she was spanked repeatedly with a ruler, a light paddle, or his hand. That didn’t last too long, and always ended with him massaging a salve into her reddened ass, discussing whatever issue he was having with her. Being a journalism student, she couldn’t entirely relate to the issues the man had when it came to writing, but she had offered him some helpful ideas, apparently. 

As Tina left, another Submissive, Ember, walked over from the toilet stalls, already peeling out of her stripper outfit. The woman clearly didn’t care as her large breasts flopped out into the air as she removed her top, and as she worked her fingers through her long, luscious curls, Negan smirked, “I take it sweet Amber’s here?” he looked at hte woman as she opened her locker, tossing her clothes haphazardly inside it before preparing for her next client. 

“Yes, her and Sherry, thank god,” Frankie remarked, and Negan turned, smirking at the redhead who was sitting on one bench as he walked past her, the woman wearing a black halter top and short skirt. It was the same outfit she performed in on stage, and she often preferred it when she could wear it as she worked in the dungeon, her hair now up in a bun, the ends of her hair poking out of the bun and hanging over it in red strands.

“I’ve just got fifteen minutes before Charlie gets here,” the redheaded Switch remarked, rolling her eyes. “Mmmmm, dirt fetish guy, right?” Negan chuckled. They certainly did have an . . . interesting variety of clientele. As he walked by he peered into the bucket and its contents, the concoction appearing to be like mud with turds mixed into it. ‘Gross’ he thought. . . at least in appearance. It helped that he knew was that it was just her own little concoction, more like a bitter pudding than anything, made with bitter chocolate and a pudding mix that had gone bad about three weeks prior. She sighed, tapping the strappy stilettos she wore against the floor as she moved the big wooden spoon through the disgusting tasting mixture, “Yep, it breaks my heart everytime I have to get this shit on these shoes but he’s paying for it, and he did pay for them, so . . .” She got up, gripping the handle of the bucket and nodding to the others in the room, “Time to go make a guy lick a room clean, see ya later.” 

Turning, she headed right on out. Negan chuckled after her, as Ember got dressed in a breast bondage bra that was all straps and no padding with a pentagram design in it that fell right over her collarbone. It was a gorgeous device, really, with soft leather on the inside edges to make it more comfortable for her, made for her by her leather working boyfriend, and her breasts poked out of the sides beautifully. She was an old pro at her job, having been working in dungeons long before Negan. And loved to “earn” punishments from her clients.

She was valuable to Negan more than he could tell her, being that submissive you could keep pushing and keep pushing, as she rode the waves of pleasure and pain every minute of it, still in control even as she enjoyed herself. Sensory deprivation, Sensation Play, Impact Play, Bondage, she loved them. Not to mention “earning” punishments let her set loose her sarcastic snark to her clients, something that her job as a secretary-a job ended years before Negan met her-never let her do. That feisty nature as well as her obvious enjoyment egged on the men and women she saw further and brought them both ultimate release. And brought her huge tips. As she rubbed some lotion into her bound breasts, Negan was reminded of another reason for those tips. 

As he approached the part of the benches near where his locker was, Negan turned away from the well experienced Submissive to his fellow Dominant, Regina. Regina was getting dressed into a black leather corset and tight leather pants ending in firm black boots, sliding black leather fingerless gloves over her firm, strong hands. Regina was an impact and sensation oriented Dominant who was heavy on the impact part, and had worked for three dungeons across the country, in Santa Ana,CA, Corpus Christi, TX, and Quantico, VA, and her passion for her craft had made Negan a little leery of her in the beginning, seeing as he had never seen her in action before and had wondered if she could maintain the full control he required of his Dominants even in the heat of the moment. But as he’d tested her out (utilizing Ember to do so), he’d learned that while Regina didn’t lack passion for her craft, she also didn’t lack control. She knew just how far to push each client, and even as she dabbled in Pet Play, she was able to perform exceptionally well, driving to Atlanta from Columbus each day to work for The Sanctuary.

She was a Military Brat: her father had been in the Air Force, and her wife was in the Marines. For a long time the former college athlete had coached High School softball, soccer, and basketball while doubling as a PE teacher, but once her wife-at the time her girlfriend- had introduced her to BDSM, Regina had been hooked, switching roles repeatedly with her significant other until she had decided to try to work in dungeons. At first she’d only worked in the dungeons part time, but as time went on, she had decided to leave the school system to pursue the adrenaline rush that put any of the rushes she had achieved as an athlete, coach, and PE teacher straight to shame.

Negan turned to his locker, his back facing the woman who finished lacing up her leather boots as Ember left the room to go see her next client, a black sleeveless trench coat wrapped around her form, its leather stretching down to brush just over the ground. Strands of Regina’s bangs fell before her face from her dirty blonde mohawk, a long black tattoo racing up the sides of her shaved head in a beautifulf, spiked tribal flow that ran along the sides of her skull, cradling it in their elegant curves and spikes, before racing down her neck and beneath her clothes. The tattoo stretched down her spine, breaking off to race about halfway down her arms, wrap around her ribs, and slide down the backs of her legs, ending just below her knees. It was a true work of art, and it, along with the five piercings she had in each ear, consisting of a tragus, snug, rook, industrial and stud lobe piercing in one ear and four loops and a long dangling lobe earring in the other spoke to her unique personality that had been stifled by her father’s occupation most of her life.

Glancing over her shoulder at Negan, the woman smirked, her nose crinkling around its hoop ring as he quickly took off his boots and his gray jeans, tossing it all into his locker, his ipad sitting dormant on the bench beside him. “What’s the rush?” the woman remarked calmly. “Got a goddamn interview I’m late for,” Negan muttered, not harshly but in a tone that said he had little time for small talk with the Domme. He didn’t mind making the person, who most likely was a goddamn narc anyway, wait a little bit, but it was beginning to reach the point of unprofessional even in his mind, as he pulled on some black dress slacks, the same kind as the ones you would get in stores that tailor made them. Buttoning and zipping them up, he sighed, shrugging off his black leather jacket. That he hung with some delicacy on a thick wooden hanger and put into his locker before grabbing a gray dress shirt and pulling it on. Regina arched an eyebrow, “Must be some goddamn interview.” 

“Not in the slightest,” Negan answered, sighing as he slid a black silk tie out of the hook that held it up in his locker, and turning, he moved to the mirror over the left sink, his white gold toe socks padding across the floor, beginning to quickly tie the necktie around the collar of the shirt, “This is for Jennifer. Class is in session right after I’m done with this fucker. . .” “Ahhhh, naughty schoolgirl’s gotta meet her raunchy principal,” Regina chuckled, “Right?” 

Negan sighed and nodded, “Yup.” “Sooo, this interview, is it for the sub position or the bartending one?” Regina remarked, grabbing his black blazer that matched his slacks from the locker along with his black polished dress shoes, walking over and setting the shoes near his feet, let him step into them as he shrugged his arms into the blazer sleeves. “Bartending,” Negan grunted, as she made sure the shoes were on right, tying them up tightly and firmly, having sensed his urgency and, fiery nature or not, had decided to help her boss. After all, working for Negan paid better than any other dungeon she’d been in.

Regina sighed, “Tanya won’t like that. She says she doesn’t mind continuing to fill the position, but she’s getting stir crazy being a Sub all the time. Even if she doesn’t say it, I can tell.” “I’m hoping she won’t have to put up with it for too much longer,” Negan remarked firmly, turning and walking back over and closing the locker firmly. With that the Dom and Domme walked down the line of lockers in the now empty room, passing by the names of the workers that were directly under Regina, as she was the manager in charge of the Sensual dealings of The Sanctuary. Well really, they both were, but Negan also was over Simon’s manager duties as well, whilst Regina was able to focus solely on the Strippers, Submissives, Switches, and Dominants, letting Negan know if something was going on that he had missed.

Negan typically started most of his workers as Submissives in the dungeon unless they had a lot of prior experience. The exceptions to that were three of his four Dominants: himself, Regina, and another Dominant, Gary, who was currently working on the stripper stage with his partner and a Submissive in The Sanctuary, Matthew. Gary was Ember’s cousin, and she had been the connection to the man that Negan had used to get him to work under him and subsequently meet Matt. The only other Dominant Negan had was Arat, who had actually started as a Submissive, quickly transitioned into being a Switch, and had just now transitioned into being a full time Dominant, trained by Negan himself to be a little more versatile than Regina or Gary. The other two were excellent, with Gary enjoying Bondage, Impact, and Sensation play himself, offering a wide variety of scenarios to many different clients, but Negan wanted Arat to be a more even mix of gentle and firm Dominant, like he could be, so that he had a more even balance in his workers.

As Arat had moved up, he’d moved Aiden, who had been a male Submissive with the dungeon, up into being a Switch. Aiden was working today and Negan knew from having glanced at his ipad screen that the younger man was now with a client. Along with Aiden, Frankie and Tanya, an oriental beauty, were Negan’s other two Switches. For him, Switches were a vital part of The Sanctuary. They were great to fill in the spaces the others couldn’t quite perform in, able to be a little bit more than a Submissive and a little less overbearing than your typical Dominant. And right now, since Aiden had moved up and left Negan with just Tina, Matt, and Ember as his Submissives, Tanya was filling in full time as a Submissive herself, since Aiden needed to stretch his legs and learn more about the newer features of his position.

Even though that helped even out his Submissive lineup, which he typically liked to have four workers in, it left him short on Switches and of course made Tanya more than a little frustrated, even if she didn’t admit it. So he sighed as they walked the hallway beyond the locker room, “I’m hoping to have some more applications once Kama Sutra downsizes,” he remarked, referring to a less than successful dungeon north of Atlanta. Regina nodded, “Understood.” With that they exited the hallway as Negan pressed a key card from the suit pocket of his blazer to a pad there, and slipped into the Strip Club portion of the building, cutting their journey just short of the bustling kitchen that was up on the right, delicious smells wafting out from around its swinging door, and the break room door that stood before them at the end of the hall.

As “Bottoms Up” by Brantley Gilbert played over the speaker system, the two looked out over the room. “Well, let me go find Jeremy, he said he’d have a potential client join him for this session,” Regina remarked, turning her head and smiling at the two men in the pinstripe suits now sitting on one of the couches in front of Sherry and Amber as they danced and performed on the female stripper stage while Matt and Gary continued to grind against each other to the cheers and encouragement of their own audience at the opposite end. Heading straight over, recognizing Jeremy, one of her regulars, immediately, she glanced back at Negan, “Good luck, hope this kid’s not a narc like the others.” Negan rolled his eyes at her, “I doubt I’ll be so lucky, but thanks.” She smirked at him and turned away to focus on where she was going, curving around tables as she headed towards her customers like a cat about to get her mouse.

Negan watched her approach the men before he turned, scanning the room before he saw the man hunched over at the bar, a tall glass with about a third of a pink looking cocktail gripped in his hand. Given that he had seen the couple who were thoroughly making out at the other end of the bar before, he could easily guess that this was Mr. Parker, Dwight catching his eye as he wiped down a section of the bar about five feet from the lonely patron and nodding in the man’s direction to further confirm his suspicions. Bringing his ipad back up before him, Negan sighed, flicking his fingers over the screen to pull up Mr. Parker’s resume once agai as he made his way over. As he read over the well crafted profile once again, he sighed and shook his head, moving a hand over his slicked back onyx hair to flatten and smooth out any flyaways he happened to have as he moved closer. Like Regina, he hoped that this kid wasn’t a narc, truly, but he doubted it. If this dude was anything like his past interviews for this position, the man wouldn’t be five minutes into a conversation with the owner before Negan told him to leave. He rolled his eyes, letting out a soft whistle, coming to stand about five feet behind the other man as Dwight made his way closer to that part of the bar. Whatever. If the kid wasn’t serious about the job, Negan would send him on his merry way, leaving him wondering what had tipped off the man who had gotten himself so well versed on body language and tone of voice that he’d become for all intents and purposes a human lie detector.

“Get me a scotch on the rocks, D,” he said in a loud, rolling tone that he knew sent shivers down the spines of most of his clients. The man before him tensed, jumping a little and having his ponytail bob slightly in the air of the room, though clearly not in pleasure or excitement like Negan was used to. 

Negan chuckled as he moved forward, gripping the back of the seat to the man’s right firmly before sliding it out nice and slow, turning to smirk at the other male, “You must be Mr. Nicholas Parker,” he let his voice roll out in a sultry pur as the glass Dwight had already been prepping for him was slid before him as his ass eased into the leather seat, setting his ipad down on the bar top before picking his glass up as the other man’s shaky, sweaty hand tightened around his own. Tilting his head back as Brantley reminded them that “Tonight it’s Bottoms Up”, Negan gulped down two swallows of his drink before setting the now half full glass back on the table, on the coaster that Dwight had left for him there, flashing the younger man a thousand watt smile of pearly, white teeth, “I’m Negan.” 

The man beside him licked his lips nervously, and pulled the drink he had yet not finished to his lips, slurping on the black straw in it slowly, draining the glass to get a bit more liquid courage from it before turning to look at him. Negan blinked, taken by surprise by the perfect clean jawline of the other man, and at the gorgeous green eyes gazing back at him. If this guy was a narc, he was a damn good looking one. He smirked a little, and took a sip of his drink, “Well hot damn, you’re good looking, aren’t you?” he slurred. The man’s eyes twitched and his jaw line set firmly, and Negan’s eyes flitted to the wire he could see under the man’s shirt from where he had twisted around to look at Negan, “I hardly see how that matters, but thank you.” he said in a tight voice that had a hint of that adorable drawl most true born southerners carried. Negan bit back his groan, licking his lips of any scotch as he gazed at the man beside him, imagining that drawl in full effect in other . . . settings.

The man was a narc, Negan was still sure of that, but hell, maybe he’d actually keep the kid around if he was interesting enough. . . hadn’t he been thinking of doing that to prove how really innocent he was anyway? And if he was a narc, Negan could always having fun poking at him and teasing the hot piece of ass beside him. It could be entertaining, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, what did you all think?


	3. Selling Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick clearly isn't happy about having to work for The Sanctuary, and certainly not for someone like Negan. But he has a mission to accomplish, and now, whether he wants to or not, he needs to convince Negan that he is the perfect man to work for the older male. Will he succeed or will Negan be turned off to the point of kicking the hot brunette right out the door?

Rick frowned at the owner of The Sanctuary for forever it seemed in silence, watching as Negan licked his lips, his dark gaze focused solely on the brunette. Rick saw a cornucopia of emotions swirling in those obsidian pits, threatening to grab him up and swallow him like mini black holes. Lust, amusement, intelligence, pride, passion, and a sense of protectiveness could be seen dancing and weaving about in Negan’s gaze. The intensity of so much raw emotion in the portals to the other man’s soul as they gazed into his own eyes made him squirm a little in his seat. Turning to his cup, he moved his tingling lips to the straw, slurping on the cocktail he gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned white. He did that for a few noisy moments before he realized he’d already finished it before when he’d had to gather up enough courage to face the monster he needed to help the Police Department take down from the inside out.

Negan chuckled, the sound rolling from his own lips as Rick pulled his lips away from the black plastic tube, those lips still tingling a little from what he had said to the man moments before: “I hardly see how that matters, but thank you.” Rick didn’t regret what he had said. It was a logical response, seeing as he didn’t appreciate the comment Negan had made any more than he’d appreciated David trying to cop a feel before. But a part of him did wonder if the words might make this whole operation royally tank. And even though he didn’t like Negan and the overall atmosphere around him made him incredibly uncomfortable, he knew he didn’t need to be kicked out of The Sanctuary so soon. He needed to gather incriminating information first, and if what he just said pissed Negan off enough to kick him out, he could have just ruined the entire investigation. He would have failed Michonne and the others just because he couldn’t hold his tongue, and that was a bad enough thought without him thinking of how he might have put the “boys “ and “girls” mentioned on the call at more of a risk. 

“Need another cocktail?” Negan purred in a tone that made Rick’s entire spine tense, before tilting his head back and draining the last of his own drink before slamming it firmly on the bar, turning and smirking at Dwight, “D, we’ll each have another before our heart to heart.” Rick frowned, turning to him. “I. . . I don’t need another one,” he began, trying to put a firmness in his voice that he in his self doubt didn’t really feel. Negan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and a smile curved across the owner’s face. With his head turned so that only the side of it faced Rick, Rick could only see half of the smile, but due to the way it curved widely across the cheek facing him, he knew that it was a big, amused one. 

The dark haired brunette grit his teeth beside him, sighing and releasing the glass as Negan reached over with his bare hand and, grasping the top of the other’s glass, moved it away from Nick, “Nonsense, Nick. You were trying to drink more just a few seconds ago,” the other man chuckled, turning away from him fully and smirking at Dwight, handing the two glasses to the man as he took them. Dwight took the two glasses silently and obediently, and putting them in the sink near them to sit and wait to be cleaned, quickly got to work on two new drinks for the men, making Negan another Scotch on the Rocks, and making Nick an orange colored cocktail. 

“But should we really be drinking before you interview me?” Rick remarked, frowning at the man and arching an eyebrow, reaching out and grasping a peanut, quickly unshelling it just to be able to focus on something other than the man beside him, “Isn’t that unprofessional?” Negan tossed his head back, laughing loudly in a way that Rick found both obnoxious and strangely endearing. It was one of those laughs that made you feel an innate urge to join along with one of your own. But he didn’t, of course. After all, Negan was laughing at him, and he hardly thought he’d just said a joke to the man. So instead he frowned at him, wondering how long the man’s laughter would continue before they could continue their conversation.

Tilting his head back down as he subsided into a low chuckle, gathering his control up once again, Negan turned and smirked at the man beside him, shaking his head and bringing his gloved hand up, put that elbow on the bar, leaning forward towards the structure as he pressed the curled leather fist of that arm against his forehead. “I think that your version of professional and my version of professional are two different versions of professional, Nicky, besides, what if I’m already interviewing you? How do you know I’m not?” Negan slurred, still chuckling a little.

“Maybe because you haven’t asked me anything a normal interviewer would?” Rick replied dryly, frowning at the older man as two new drinks were placed before them, the same one that Negan had gotten before being placed before the owner and an orange one with a fruity aroma being placed before himself, both sitting firmly on new, black cocktail napkins. “But I will agree with you on one thing. Your idea of professionalism isn’t quite what I’m used to. Most people aren’t so late to interview people.” 

Negan chuckled, turning and gripping his scotch, pulling it closer, “For the record, I’m always observing and always ‘interviewing’ people, whether I ask ‘typical’ interview questions or not. In my experience you run the risk of not really getting to know people that way, as most people learn over time the ‘right’ answers to give to those questions, and will give them whether those answers are honest or not. And as for your comment about most people not being late for an interview, well, I think you’ll find out I’m not ‘most people’, Nicholas, the longer you speak with me. If you got a problem with that, you might as well head out the door right now.” His dark eyes moved over to look at Nick at that, and he arched an eyebrow in a silent question. Would the brunette turn tail now, or would the narcy bastard decide to stay? A part of him wanted the latter to happen, if he was being honest with him. There was something . . . interesting about the slight defiance he already saw in the man, and that coupled with that handsome face and cute, tight body made him want to get to know Nicholas a little bit more. . . Yes, he didn’t want Nicholas to leave, even though a part of him expected the kid to.

Rick grit his teeth at the slightly expectant gaze the man gave him. He knew the man expected him to leave, and a part of him wanted to. Negan had made him incredibly uncomfortable, not just by the words he was saying, but with his body language and the way he kept looking at Rick. Not to mention, how did a man who did the things Negan had been anonymously hinted at doing act so nonchalant and friendly,with anybody? Also, the man’s own handsome features were a problem. It wasn’t that Rick was attracted to the bastard, but the fact that the man was good looking was definitely dissonant from what Rick had expected of him. 

When he’d thought of Negan whilst preparing for this mission, he’d come to imagine him as a creepy older man who, while not having fangs, horns, or grey skin, would obviously look like a monster. That was definitely not the man beside him, with his hair slicked back perfectly against his head with the black hairs of his mane transitioning flawlessly into silver hairs that framed his shining locks on the sides, and his beard perfectly groomed to cradle the angles of his face that in spite of what Rick wanted to think of him, made him seem firm, strong, and very handsome. And the flawless suit he wore only added to the overall handsome, well put together look of the man. The man from the hairs of his head to the soles of his shoes exuded control and power, and Rick could already tell that he had a charismatic pull about him. That pull both made Negan an easily attractive man, and made him all the more dangerous. ‘But even if it has a pretty cover, a book can be dead and evil on the inside,’ a firm voice reminded him as it rang through Rick’s mind. He realized quickly that it was his own voice. With that he set his jaw firmly as he looked at the man, his blue eyes turned green gazing firmly into the man’s dark, emotional ones. 

He was determined to not let Negan throw him off regarding his mission. No, he wouldn’t leave. Hell, he’d been waiting too long to leave now anyway. . . He turned to the bar and reaching out, grasped the new drink Dwight had made him, the liquid having bubbles still popping at the top with a mango wedge wrapped around the glass’s top rim, and pulled it towards himself. “No sir, I don’t think I will,” he said firmly, moving his lips to the new straw that had been put in this drink, “I want this job, like I told Dwight, and have no intention of leaving here without it. I would think me waiting to see you should have been proof enough of that.” As he began to slurp on the drink, he couldn’t forget how rattled that long wait alone had made him. The only reason he had been drinking his pink drink before had been to get over that feeling. It had been the only way he’d been able to calm down. . . 

~Rick sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and putting it on top of the “regular” menu he’d been perusing as said menu rested against the bar top. That menu was at least more of what he was used to compared to the other he’d seen, with sections like “Appetizers”, “Salads”, “Soups”, “Entrees”, “Sides”, and “Desserts” making it up, along with an extensive drink section that contained long lists of the beers on tap, wines, cocktails, shots and nonalcoholic drinks that The Sanctuary had to offer. Pressing a button on the side of the phone, he brought up the main screen, trying to ignore the couple that was gradually intensifying in their passion at the end of the bar, the two male strippers who continued to move erotically against each other, and the whoops and cheers of the crowd at the female stripper stage as Sherry and a sweet looking blonde replaced the two girls who had been on stage when he’d sat down. It was already 15 minutes since Dwight had gotten off the phone with Negan, and so far Rick hadn’t seen hide or hair of the man. Tapping on the icons of the touch screen, he pulled up Abraham’s number and quickly texted him:

Rick: I think he knows. He had said I’d only have to wait fifteen minutes. It’s already past that now. . . what should I do?

He sighed and flipped the phone over, not wanting to continue to look at the screen with its nerve wracking digital clock face until it vibrated with Abe’s answer. Tilting his head up, he focused on the dark metal buckets before him, one being three quarters of the way full of peanuts, the other just a little bit full of empty shells. Dwight had placed the buckets before him after Negan had talked to the blonde haired bartender on the radio, and then there had been one full bucket of peanuts and one empty one. Rick sighed and reaching out, grabbed another peanut shell, popping it open and munching on the salty nut pieces inside as he discarded the shell pieces into the “trash” bucket. 

The more he ate the peanuts, the more nervous he got, not to mention the salt from the nuts made him thirsty. He reached over and gripped his almost empty glass of water and slid it closer to himself, sipping at the straw quietly, holding the glass tightly in one hand as his other’s fingers drummed against the countertop. He wasn’t really impatient as much as he was nervous. Was this Negan’s way of booting him out? Was he really that bad of a spy that Negan wasn’t even going to bother talking with him? How did the man already know what he was if that was the case, anyway? He gulped down the last of the water and sighed, pushing it away as Dwight moved over, offering a sympathetic smile to him. 

After all, the burned faced man knew that Negan wasn’t the most punctual person in the world, not if the reason his punctuality was requested didn’t deserve such effort in his mind. And when it came to interviews, Negan often claimed that being a little later than he said he would be was a way to make sure that the person really wanted the job being offered. In his mind, if they really wanted it, they’d be more than willing to wait for him. There was no way Dwight would ever argue with the man on that particular character trait or ideology, but he could still sympathize with the people who had to wait because of Negan’s tardiness. “Negan’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it,” Dwight said in a tone he hoped was encouraging, “In the meantime, want some more water? Or are you in the mood for something a little stronger?”

“I don’t need to drink anything stronger before I have an interview, but I will take some more water,” Rick remarked, frowning at the blonde haired man, speaking in a tone that sounded like Dwight had just offered that he take off flying around the room or test out his nonexistent heat vision. Dwight smiled a lopsided smile at him, and held up his hands in a non-threatening way, “Hey, just offering it so that you can loosen up before you meet the big guy, kid. And one drink wouldn’t really hurt, right?” Rick grit his teeth at him, before his phone vibrated. Diverting his attention as he shook his head and Dwight shook his own, the latter male clearly amused with what he viewed as prudeness, Rick flipped his phone back over and entered into his text messages yet again to see Abe’s reply. As he did so, the other man refilled his water via a glass pitcher, “Suit yourself, kid.” With that he moved forward and placed the now full glass on the bar top again, right on the black cocktail napkin the glass had sat on before, “Whatever you say.” 

Rick sighed, watching the blonde haired man walk away, a part of him regretting how standoffish he was being. But he couldn’t help it. The longer it took for Negan to come meet with him the more nervous he got, and that nervousness was swirling constantly over and over in his stomach, making him feel heavy and nauseous. Honestly he wondered if he could drink anything, even if he wanted to, and keep it down. He blinked, opening up Abraham’s reply.

Abraham: Just sit tight man. We heard from the others that Negan’s not one for punctuality. Remember that one guy that had to wait for forty five minutes? Just relax.

Rick sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, some strands falling out of the ponytail to hang beside his face, just as another message came through.

Abraham: How’re you feeling?

What, did he just automatically know Rick wasn’t feeling good?

Rick: So nervous. Like I’m going to be sick. I don’t know if I can really do this.

He hated texting that last sentence, but it was the truth. The move David made before, the loud music, the couple making out at the other end of the bar, and the growing wait to see Negan, it was all getting to him. And if it was all getting to him now, if he even got the damn job how was he going to hold himself together as he continued to have to keep up the facade?

He grit his teeth, feeling the tears start to prick at the sides of his eyes, and looking up, grabbed a cocktail napkin from the holder before him, ducking his head and gently dabbing at the corners of his eyes, remembering that he had eyeliner on and knowing that if it smeared that would only make things worse. Not that they could get much worse, in his opinion. He was crying like a fucking baby at a bar. How pathetic was that? And he really wasn’t that upset, just frustrated. After all, what if Negan had really already found him out? Or what if he showed up right now and obviously knew from Rick’s behavior something was up? What did that mean for the people he was rumored to be victimizing? Rick didn’t want his screw up and issues to lead to anyone getting hurt like that. . . but of course those thoughts only made him feel worse. He hated feeling this way, like a failure.

He sighed a ragged, shuddering breath, and sagged his shoulders, swiping at his nose and wincing as he knocked against his nose piercing, then tilted his head back, taking in a deep, rattling breath and letting it out. At least he hadn’t full on cried, he tried to tell himself, frowning hard at the video screen before him of two girls, all soapy and naked, making out and grinding on each other, one girl’s hand between the other’s thighs. He looked at the screen without really seeing, forcing himself to calm down with each shaky breath. ‘Pull yourself together Grimes. You can’t drop the ball before you get a chance to play on the damn court,’ he thought to himself firmly, gritting his teeth, embarrassed by his previous behavior. The only other time recently that he’d been this stressed and irritated at a bar was . . . well, he preferred not to think of that night. 

He slid his glass of water closer and closed his eyes, breathing hard through his nose before leaning down to take the straw between his lips. “Here ya go man,” a voice suddenly remarked, and he frowned, turning his head and opening his eyes to gaze at Dwight, a slightly concerned look in the blonde man’s eyes, his lips trying to turn up in a sympathetic smile as he slid a tall glass with a bright pink cocktail inside Rick’s way, a brand new cocktail napkin sticking out around the bottom ridge of the drinking vessel. A thick lemon wedge dusted in what Rick thought was either sugar or salt sat on the rim, hugging the glass, and a candied orange peel sat on top of the liquid, it’s bottom ridges dipping down into the liquid. Rick frowned, and rubbed at his nose again as he felt a bit of mucus seeping out from his nostrils, “I. . . I didn’t order anything. . .” 

Dwight smiled, “I know. This is from ol’ Jeremy over there.” He pointed to the more laid back pinstriped suit man, who had gotten up from the bar along with his friend. Catching his eye, “Jeremy” gave him a smile that didn’t seem all that lustful, just encouraging. Walking over, the man approached Rick, and Rick immediately tensed up a little. What was he going to do to him? But instead of making some lewd remark like a part of Rick had been expecting, the man just clapped a hand firmly on his shoulder, giving him a gentle, encouraging squeeze, “Just relax, ok? You’ll get the job and next thing you know, you’ll be making a drink for me back there beside Dwight.” 

Rick grit his teeth, “I . . .I really shouldn’t drink before my interview. . . but thank you though. . .” he reached out with a hand and pushed the drink towards the other man, who shot him a raw smile. Jeremy clearly had charisma, almost too much of it. The other man only chuckled, and reaching out, pushed the cool glass back into Rick’s fingers again, “You also don’t need to be completely wigged out before you talk to the boss, trust me. I’ve interviewed plenty of people before, kid, and you being wigged ain’t gonna convince him him you can handle pressure. And that’s one of the most important things in any interview. Just have a drink to loosen up and ah, thank me later.” he winked at Rick and turning, marched off, slinging an arm across his slightly more relaxed comrade’s shoulders and steering him towards the female stripper stage, “IT’D BE NICE TO HAVE A HOT BARTENDER AGAIN!” he called out to Rick, making a red blush cross the undercover Sheriff Deputy’s face before he turned and grit his teeth, gazing at the drink. 

“Fucking asshole,” Dwight chuckled, shaking his head, “I make him awesome drinks every time he comes in here, and he always insults my damn face. One day I’m gonna fucking put soapy water in there, just to fuck with him back,” the blonde slurred, turning and grabbing a glass from where Jeremy had been sitting and moving back closer to Rick as he moved the glass under the running water of a sink close to where Rick was sitting. Rick frowned, blinking at him as the blonde saw him watching him. Dwight shrugged, “I’m kidding, of course. I’d never really do that. Besides, even though he’s an asshole, he’s always generous with his tips, he has that going for him at least. Course I’d be generous too if I owned a bunch o’ five stars. . .” “‘Bunch o’ five stars’?” Rick asked with a frown. “Five star hotels,” Dwight quickly explained, setting the drink glass down on a drying rack before moving back to get the other glass. Clearly not rushing seeing as he didn’t have a lot of people, “Dude owns them across the country. Loves talking about flying out to check on them. His daddy owned the chain before, when it was about half the size as it is now. His old man only wanted to have hotels mainly on the East coast, Jeremy decided to expand to the West. That guy . . .” he nodded to the two men, and Rick knew he was talking about the more nervous of the two, “He’s someone that Jeremy recently partnered with to try to further expand his operation. Course, he’s never worked with a business as big as Jeremy’s soooo he’s pretty fucking nervous about it all. I’d guess that’s why Jeremy brought him here.”

“And you think that’s a good idea?” Rick asked, frowning at him. Dwight smiled at him, and winked, “You’d be surprised Mr. Parker. This place can be one hell of a stress reliever, in it’s own way. And if you’re working directly under Jeremy, well. . .” he chuckled and shook his head, putting that glass on the drying rack too, “I’d guess that you’d need some relief. Not sure how his wife handles him.” “How do you know so much about him anyway?” Rick asked, reaching out and gripping a peanut again, unshelling it as he brought it towards himself and popping the nuts into his mouth, deciding to try to focus on that and the conversation to try to cool his own nerves. It helped, but not a lot. 

Dwight shrugged, “You hear a lot as a bartender here, kid. And when it comes to our regulars, you learn more and more each time till you know them better than some of their friends do. Hell, with him I know what he’s going to order to drink before he even makes his way over to me. ‘Scuse me.” He moved along down the bar to the other couple, checking in on them. Rick didn’t hear what they said but as he watched, the woman smiled and pointed at something on the menu. Nodding, Dwight turned and made his way down the bar towards the touchscreen computer with the colorful blocks on its screen that no doubt represented food and drink items that could be ordered. The computer was just a little past Rick in the other direction. Walking by he glanced at Rick, “You really should have that drink, man. Not trying to tell ya what to do, buuuut, it could help you relax before you talk to Negan. He can be. . . well, he can be a character sometimes, and with you wound up so tight, you might need something to take the edge off.” 

Rick frowned and turned to the glass, munching on yet another set of peanuts. He was tempted to just continue to drink his water, but as he watched the ice cubes float about in the pink liquid tinkling together, it was tempting. . . after all, even though he’d calmed down a little just by talking to Dwight, he was still pretty damn nervous, especially since. . . he glanced down at his phone, and grit his teeth. . . especially since it had been close to thirty minutes now. “What’s in it?” he asked, pulling the cocktail’s glass closer and looking down at it as Dwight turned from entering in the couple’s order. 

Dwight sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, puffing and then hollowing his cheeks as he did so, crossing his thin arms and pressing them against the bar top as he leaned forward, tapping the toe of one of his shoes against the rubber mats on the floor beneath him, no doubt there to help prevent from him getting too sore standing around all the time, looking at the drink. “That right there is a Lucille,” he said, pointing at it, “She’s one of our popular house specialties. When Negan isn’t drinking straight liquor he usually has one. . . it’s got Malibu Rum, Amaretto, Razzmatazz, and some fresh squeezed Orange Juice and Lemonade in it. Not too heavy a drink, but it’s still pretty damn tasty. I usually recommend it.” Rick frowned, and looked at the black straw sticking out of the top, just as his phone lit up with a new message. Since he’d never closed out of his messages, he saw Abraham’s text loud and clear by just glancing at the screen.

Abraham: Look man, there’s obviously a bar there, right? On duty or off it, maybe you should have a drink just to relax. It ain’t gonna hurt anything. 

Rick sighed, and reaching out towards the drink with his right hand, closed out of his messages with his left, turning his phone back to being face down before turning back to the drink and leaning closer as his fingers gripped the straw. Hell, if everyone said he needed a drink, why the hell not? At least until Negan came to do the interview. . . He wrapped his lips around the straw and slurped some of the liquid up and into his mouth, leaning back and smacking his lips a little. It was tart but sweet as it ran over his tongue, with the added kick from the alcohol definitely there. He had to admit, even though it might not be for him, it was still pretty damn good. Leaning forward, he began to sip a little more at it. Dwight smiled a little, watching him drink, “Good?” Clearly the man was happy Rick had chosen to relax a little.

Rick leaned back, the straw popping free from his lips, “A little tart but alright,” he murmured. “I can make you a ‘Georgia Peach’ next, got some Mango and Peach flavors in that one with some moscato. A lot of people like that too, and it’s a little bit sweeter.” Rick shook his head, “I’ll only be having the one, thanks,” he remarked, already feeling a little more relaxed as he reached out and grabbed another peanut, peeling the shell away before popping the nut pieces in his mouth. Dwight nodded, grinning a little, moving away again. Taking a clean looking rag, the bartender began to wipe down the bartop where Jeremy and the other guy had been, “Uh huh, well, seeing as originally you weren’t going to be having ‘the one’, I’ll stick around, just in case.” Rick sighed and continued to sip at the drink, flipping his phone over and deciding to play some Candy Crush, just to continue to relax. . . or at least try to. ~

Rick blinked as what he assumed was the Georgia Peach Dwight had mentioned slipped over his tongue. It was fruity in taste, but a lot sweeter than the Lucille he’d been drinking. “So why do you want it so badly?” Negan remarked in a smooth voice before taking another sip of his scotch. Rick frowned and turned to him, “What do you mean?” he had drank about a third of the drink and now turned, moving his hand forward and plucking another peanut from the bucket before him, unshelling it and popping it in his mouth. “Well, you’ve never worked in places like this before, according to your resume, and all the places you have worked for you have made good money at apparently,” the owner remarked smoothly, turning and flicking his finger over the screen. Rick frowned, glancing at the electronic version of his “resume” moved along the screen. 

“So,” Negan said, leaning back in the chair and tapping his fingers against the bar beside the ipad, turning his head and looking at Rick with a dissecting look that made him feel vulnerable instantly. He grit his teeth against that look, and his fingers tightened a little on the glass before him as the pressure to keep up the facade grew even more. “Why is a kid like you from McDonough, used to working in more affluent parts of town, who clearly doesn’t look like he’s ever even walked into a Strip Club, much less a BDSM Dungeon like mine, wanting to so badly work in a place like this?” He flashed the brunette a smile and winked at him, picking up his own scotch, dunking it back and downing some more of it before licking his lips, smacking them, and turning to face Rick head on, speaking a bit huskier now, “What, is this your way of coming out of the closet pretty boy? Have you been thinking that getting spanked by someone like me sounds pretty damn good? In that case, you could have just booked an appointment or applied for the Submissive position available.” 

He picked up the drink and downed about half of the scotch left in it, before setting it firmly down on the bar top, his dark eyes filling predominantly with lust as he grinned wickedly at Rick, “Because I gotta say, it would be one hell of a good time to see you naked and begging for more of what I can give you. . .” leaning closer, he smirked, turning the intensity in his gaze up a notch, so much that all Rick saw were holes of darkness swirling with an inner fire as Negan leaned forward, to where he was just a few inches from the brunette, looking at the man head on, “And believe me, boy, I can give you EXACTLY what you need. And I’d enjoy every second of it. Even without seeing it, I can tell you have a tight ass, baby, and dammit all to hell, I’d love to make you bruise like the goddamn Georgia Peach you are. And I know a lot of men and women who would pay good money to do the same, should you decide the Submissive position is more your speed.” He purred the last words to the man, and he saw the kid visibly shiver at it. He smirked as he saw that heat rise in the man’s face. So fucking adorable and naive. . . he’d love to teach him a thing or two, if he were allowed.

Rick stared into Negan’s eyes in disbelief, the man’s warm breath having just ghosted over his face. He felt a deep blush form wherever that breath had hit, any words he’d been preparing to say getting stuck in his throat as the man grinned at him, flashing him those pearly whites. Choking slightly, the heat of his face telling him it was bright red now, the man turned, gripping his glass even tighter and latching his lips onto the straw as he struggled to breathe, slurping on the drink some more, coughing a little into the straw as he began to down more of it. He focused on the orange liquid as its level in the glass gradually lowered, trying to gather his thoughts and avoid that heated gaze. 

Negan chuckled a little at how flustered the man had become with just the words he had just said to him, which seemed pretty tame to him anyway, and wondered how Nick was going to convince him regarding whatever reason he had for applying, if he was able to talk again, that was. Or if he wanted to. Negan half expected what he said to scare the other off, but a part of him really wanted Nick to continue to try to get the job. He was just too amusing to watch for Negan to want to leave. Finally the brunette pulled off of the straw of hte drink and turned to him, still gripping the glass firmly, forcing his green eyes to focus on Negan’s own. Negan had to hand it to him, that defiant, guarded look in those eyes was unexpected. Anytime he’d spoken like that to the other narcs, he’d gotten a more outrageous response or he’d completely shut them down.The fact that Nicholas seemed firmly planted in the seat, and the fact that he was able to silently meet Negan’s gaze now was impressive, to say the least. It made Negan want to get to know him a little more. To figure out just what made him tick. 

“I’m sure you would,” the brunette responded evenly, and although Negan could feel the inner disgust and rage at his comment in the man’s tone brewing beneath the surface, the applicant kept it in check impressively well. It made Negan flex his shoulders as some blood pulled towards his crotch as he kept his growl inside. He knew the rejection of the idea was coming even as Nick licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, but knowing it was coming, coupled with the man’s firm hold on control, made him want to breakthrough that control even more and to spank him even harder, to show the boy just how good what he rejected could make him feel. And he would be willing to do it, if he could convince the man. After all, the man WAS attractive, and clearly didn’t know how beneficial BDSM could be in regards to release and freedom. Negan was more than willing to teach him about it though. In fact, that made him WANT to teach him, eventually. The only question was whether he would want to use a real paddle or his bare hand, so that he could feel the skin of Nick’s perfect ass cheeks jerk and move beneath its impact. He wanted to make them bright red, wanted to feel Nick release the control he held over himself as he cried out and squirmed, and ultimate he wanted to make him fly. ‘Too bad he isn’t applying for the Submissive position.’ A part of Negan hoped that Nick would change his mind. But he knew he wouldn’t.

Rick grit his teeth at the intense look in the man’s face, seeing that lust grow even more as he forced his next words out, his body trembling and tensing beneath that look, “Unfortunately that sounds like a lot more fun for you than for me. So I think I’ll stick to applying to the bartender application process, thanks. And as for why I wish to work here. . .” 

Rick turned and took another peanut from the bucket. He had wanted to hold Negan’s gaze through his entire response, but he just couldn’t. Negan had taken on a look that to Rick seemed like a cat closing in on a bowl of cream. It made him incredibly uncomfortable. . . so instead of looking at the darker haired man a moment longer, he unshelled another set of nuts and put them in his teeth, eating them firmly and swallowing them before continuing to focus on the drink before him as he took the straw and moved it around slowly, watching the liquid swirl about inside, lifting an arm up to rest it on the bartop, sucking in a deep breath. He had to give his “reason” for being here, and he knew it was going to be tough for him. But he had to sell this, so here he went. It was now or never. Either Negan would see straight through him, or Rick would fool the perverse man beside him. Maybe if the man really WAS attracted to him that might work in his favor. He hoped it would, as he began. . .

“Well, ya see. . . I had this customer at the last bar I worked at. Shane. . . he seemed like an alright guy, we even hung out a little once I got off work. He loved working out, and I enjoyed working out with him, even though I didn’t do as much bodybuilding as he did. . . we instantly hit it off. . .” he bit his lip, and sagged a little, sighing, holding himself together as he continued, “Sometimes my girlfriend Lori would come by and hang out with us too. Not to the gym but to places, ya know. If we went to goof off at the mall or other bars or concerts. . . to the movies, stuff like that. It was a lot of fun, us spending all that time together. . .” he felt the tears bead up in his eyes as he told the story to Negan. Even if he was just using the names from his past for it and the story obviously wasn’t true in its setting and other details, the feelings it stirred up were getting to him. . . He heaved another sigh, sucking in a deep breath again before continuing. 

“I. . . I didn’t realize that they were spending more time together, without me, though. . . They just kept saying they couldn’t hang out, for whatever reason. . . Lori said she was having to take on extra shifts at work, Shane said the same, or said that he needed to visit his parents, since they were older and needed help around the house. . . It all made sense, at the time. . . damn I was so fucking blind,” he bowed his head at that, running a hand over his ponytail, tugging at it a little, before lifting it again, and began to turn the glass in his hand, around and around, “I came over to her house one day, to surprise her, I had actually brought flowers and food from her favorite place, since we hadn’t been able to hang out a lot lately, and. . . well. . .” he sucked in a shaky breath as two hot tears raced down his cheeks, “I found them together and that was that.” he bit out the ending, wishing he would stop crying. But of course, where one tear was, there was another, and he felt them rolling pathetically down his cheeks.

He choked out a soft sob, and dabbed at his eyes again with one hand as the other’s grip on the glass tightened even more. Suddenly wishing he’d gone with a different reason, even if it was what everyone had suggested. Abraham and the others had mentioned him using Lori and Shane as the characters in his story, adapting it to be more age and scenario appropriate, because of the true emotional response it would cause. They had hoped such a response would fool Negan and garner some sort of sympathy that might let his guard down a little more. Maybe that was a good idea, but now that he’d told the man the story, he felt far too vulnerable and exposed, even if most of the details were false. The important ones weren’t, after all. He, Shane, and Lori had hung out a lot, ever since they were in high school, and as he’d married Lori, Shane had been his best man. And he HAD walked in on the both of them, ready to have a romantic night with his wife, to find Shane fucking her hard as she’d begged for more. Even now he could still remember the sound she’d made as his best friend had fucked his wife. 

Negan grit his teeth, watching the man cry a little as he moved the black plastic straw in his drink closer to his lips and took another sip. He was still certain that Nicholas was a narc, and so he was obviously skeptical of the man, but damn, if that hadn’t been a true story, the man was one hell of an actor. “Damn, Nick,” he said, shaking his head and turning to his scotch again, whistling as he tilted the drink back, “Sounds like she was one hell of a lying bitch.” He tilted his head back, gulping the last of his scotch down, before moving the glass back to the table, “Still, you’re better off without her, kid. Relationships, when they go bad, they can really fuck you up. Sometimes it’s better not to have any at all. No emotions that’ll break you up and leave you to the wolves.” 

“They were BOTH liars,” Rick bit out, pulling away from the now empty glass, sliding it away from himself as Dwight moved over and quietly took it away, dumping the uneaten fruit in the trash and cleaning drinking vessel. He didn’t view Lori as totally innocent, but Negan implying that she had been the only bad one wasn’t right. Shane was responsible just as much as his wife had been. “Anyway, the next week, Shane was back at the bar. And I couldn’t. . . I couldn’t work near him anymore. I needed a change, and so I started looking around,” he remarked, grabbing a handful of peanuts and putting them on the bar top, because hell, he was going to eat them all anyway if Negan kept talking to him. He needed something to focus on, not his emotions and not the man beside him. 

He tensed a little as Negan reached a firm hand out and plucked a peanut from his pile, cracking it open effortlessly and popping the nuts into his mouth. He turned, frowning at him as Negan blinked back at him, his dark eyes less lustful than before but still so calculating as they watched the brunette as the black haired man unshelled the nut, clearly studying him. He watched the man’s jawline work as he popped another nut in, “Still,” the dark haired man remarked, tilting his head as he swallowed the snack, “To end up here, when you’re clearly opposed to what we do here,” he cracked a small smile at Rick, “Seems pretty out there if you ask me.” 

‘Yeah it does,’ Rick thought, but knew he couldn’t admit to that, not now. He reached for a peanut just as Negan’s hand landed on it, and he grit his teeth, before holding on tight and moving it out of the man’s grip firmly. “Not really. It’s far enough out of my common social hang out spaces that I shouldn’t run the risk of meeting Lori or Shane, and it still pays similarly to my past jobs. . . besides, I won’t have to interact much with . . . your OTHER amenities. So it made sense to me. It still does,” he added for extra emphasis, as he unshelled the peanut. Suddenly, that hand was back, moving between his fingers with a firmness that, in spite of Rick not wanting to let the man have his way, caused his hands fall slack around Negan’s as the man smirked at him, a look of triumph in his gaze as he brought the nuts Rick had just unshelled to his own lips, putting them between them and munching on them, stealing the nut that Rick had taken from him before, “Does it? Well,” He turned and gripping the countertop of the bar, pushed out from it before standing up. Rick grit his teeth, able to easily tell that if they both stood up Negan would be a good half foot taller than the Sheriff’s Deputy, as Negan grabbed his ipad from the bar and turned, holding out a hand into the air as a way to invite Rick to get up as well, the hand pointing in the direction of the two doors near the stage, “Let’s take this conversation to somewhere a little more . . . private then shall we, Mr. Parker?”

Rick grit his teeth and got up, picking up the shelled nuts still on the counter and putting them back in their bucket as he did so, gripping the water glass, its condensation now covering the outside of the glass and making his palm wet. He drank the rest of it slowly, nodding his ascension. Putting the glass back down, he moved a hand over his lips, mindful of his lip ring, and turned to Negan, “Please, lead the way, sir.” Negan chuckled and nodded, turning and strutting across the Strip Club’s floor. Rick grit his teeth as the smoothness that he moved with and the power he exuded with each step he took. The suit he wore did little to hide the muscles-clearly the man worked out often- that the owner had as he moved confidently, like a lion through his pride, across the room, and sighing, Rick continued after him, pocketing his phone as he did so. He had made it over the first hurdle. . . he thought. That was further than others had gotten, he told himself. Still, he knew that that only meant it would be even more imperative to keep up the act later on.

As they approached the door that Sherry and the other male had gone through earlier, Rick watched as Negan pulled out a key card and pressed it against the door’s scanner. “Who all has those?” Rick asked, blinking. Negan turned and glanced at him over his shoulder, the brunette frowning at him with authentic curiosity in his gaze. “Everyone who works here has a key card, Mr. Parker,” Negan remarked calmly, opening the door and stepping into a red walled hallway, moving around to hold the heavy door open for Rick to pass through. Rick frowned and stepped over the threshold as the man continued, “The areas that each key card has access to are limited, however. For example, all workers have access to this hallway.” he motioned to the area in general, and Rick blinked, looking around. 

At the end of the hallway that Negan was facing, was a black door. Between them and that black door was a larger gray door with black trim, four black doors matching the first, and a black door with another key card scanner on the side of the hall opposite where they’d come from. There was also the door beside the one they’d come through, which had a scanner on this side of it as well. “However,” Negan moved forward, and tapped the scanner on the door across the hall, “This door can only be accessed by the workers of my BDSM dungeon portion of The Sanctuary. Aka, my janitorial staff to clean the equipment and rooms we use, my Submissives, my Switches, and my Dominants. So, you wouldn’t have access to this part, for example. But, you would have access to both of those doors. . .” he motioned to the door they’d passed through and the one beside it, “The one we just passed through is typically used for someone coming into the hallway, and the other is typically used for someone going out of the hallway. So that we don’t have someone coming in ramming into another person coming out.” 

Turning, Negan headed down the hallway, the “follow me” request implied. Rick frowned and continued to move after the man, “Why not just give everyone access to all parts of the building? What’s such a big secret about that one door?” “Believe me, the restrictions are necessary,” Negan remarked, “The typical bartender or kitchen staff member, along with any Strippers who aren’t also working for the Dungeon portion of the establishment, would have no need to go through that door, as it leads to the other floors of the building which are solely for the BDSM activities that we offer clients. So why bother giving them access? It’s also for a sense of security. Our clientele expect their visits to be kept discrete, and value the privacy that The Sanctuary offers them. You know, like Bob might need to come to relieve stress to deal with Arthur, his hard ass of a boss, but ARTHUR doesn’t need to know that. The fact that we have to use special key cards to access that area just gives them the further feeling of privacy. Which keeps them coming back, which provides me with a successful business. It also prevents liability. The more secure an area, the less likely something bad is going to happen there. Besides, the whole system is a good way to know where all of my workers are. . . all it takes is a few taps, and voila,” he held up the ipad, and Rick understood the implication. Negan could access which access card had been against each scanner, which gave him a better idea of where that worker was. “Just makes it better for everyone, you know?” Negan said, glancing back at him as if to make sure Rick was still with him, physically and conversationally.

Rick frowned and nodded. He could see the merit in what Negan was saying, even though that made his job all the harder. . . If he had an inkling that Negan was doing something horrible upstairs, the key card system the man had set up would make it almost impossible for him to get to the upper levels. The only way he would be able to do it would be if he was able to get his hands on another person’s key card that would allow him that access. . . which that requirement of course could limit his investigation and even if he could get his hands on a key card, what if the worker with the snatched key card was spotted by Negan when Rick was trying to investigate something, and Negan got tipped off about what Rick had done? What would happen then? He might not get any evidence against the man, and any future chance he would have of doing so could be lost.

Negan moved past two black doors set across from each other of the four black doors, each of that first pair having a green light glowing on top of the door frames. Rick frowned, glancing at the two doors as he passed, “What are these rooms for?” “They’re where we meet with clients before sessions,” Negan said smoothly. “Why not just go directly upstairs?” Rick asked as Negan moved to the next two rooms, each having no green light on above their doors, and turning to the one on the right, the man opened it, holding it open to let Rick inside. Rick grit his teeth. He had thought they’d meet in the man’s office, not here. . . he didn’t want to be in the same seat as Negan’s. . . clients. . . sat in. Those men wanted to hand themselves over to Negan so that he could do whatever he wanted with them. Most of those men loved the idea of the man before him beating them into submission. . . Rick didn’t want to be anywhere doing anything to give the impression he was like that. . . 

He paused, frowning at Negan, as the man smiled at him, “Good question. The interviews give us a chance to get to know the clients we get here, especially if it’s their first time here. It gives us a chance to know what is needed in the session and what should be avoided. . . and for the clients that have been coming to us for a while, it’s still very important. We need to be able to gauge their mood that day, and figure out just what they need in order to achieve optimum results.” Rick frowned and tilted his head, “Aren’t you just going to do whatever the hell it is you want to do anyway?” 

It was like a switch had been flipped. Instantly Negan went from smiling and calm to angry with him. Negan frowned, his gaze darkening, and Rick grit his teeth, taking a step back from that dark look and the offense that flared up in it. “Get inside, Mr. Parker. We have an interview to do, after all,” the man bit out in a firm tone, and something told Rick that he was just barely keeping his anger and irritation in check. Rick felt a tremor race down his spine at the tone. Clearly he’d struck a nerve, which made him even less willing to be in a room alone with Negan. He didn’t move, frozen to the spot by the man’s features’ sudden switch from being professional to barely held back rage. 

Negan set his jaw firmly as the naive male stared back at him, worry entering the man’s green eyes. He knew he had put that worry there, and a part of him felt some form of guilt at not being able to control his tone better, but he simply had not been able to quell the flare of rage that had sparked up at the man’s insolence. He wanted to slap Nicholas Parker across the face for such a crude assumption as hard as possible. The kid knew nothing about BDSM culture, and yet he decided to make such a broad statement that he apparently assumed encompassed all that Negan did? And people called Negan rude! The kid’s lack of movement made that anger kick up more as he didn’t do what Negan said, but then the man sighed, breathing in a deep breath as he saw the door behind Nick open, and closed his eyes, relaxing as he let the breath out. He knew that a client was about to be behind Nicholas, and regardless of who they were, he knew he couldn’t lose his cool around them. “I said get inside for your interview, Mr. Parker. Unless you’d like to go back to the bar and consider your application terminated.” He opened his eyes, and smiled softly as Ember and her client, a black haired male who was lean and muscular, moved out into the hallway. Nick turned his head to gaze at them too, stepping forward to allow them out of their interview room, and Ember smiled at him before nodding respectfully to Negan. Then, turning, she led the man through the door that led to the staircase portion of the building, the two disappearing over the threshold quietly. 

“Well, what will it be, Nicholas?” Negan remarked firmly, a hint of his previous irritation and anger returning to his voice, but with far less intensity than before. Nick turned to him, and grit his teeth, though he was clearly a little more relaxed than before, and darted his eyes down to the floor, avoiding the man’s expressive gaze.

Rick didn’t want to go in the room with Negan, but at least the man had calmed down a little, and he needed to get through this to get his mission accomplished. Clenching his clammy hands firmly, he moved forward at a quick, shuffling pace, heading into the room. Negan smirked, and patted the man on the back in passing. Rick bristled a little at the way it felt like a man praising a pet as he said, “Good choice, let’s continue then, shall we?” Rick turned as the two of them entered the room, watching as Negan pulled the door closed and pressed a button on the speaker box set into the wall beside the door. Turning to him, Negan smiled, “That turns on our light, to make sure that we aren’t disturbed.” Rick nodded in silent understanding before turning around, taking in the rest of the room.

It was a simple, plain room, with a dark oak table in the center of it and one black padded chair sitting one either side of it. Across from the two men, two other black padded chairs sat against one of the room’s four dark grey walls, the room having no other decor than the meager amount of furniture it sported. Rick moved forward slowly, glancing around the room, spotting a small camera set into the ceiling to the direct right of the door. Gripping the seat to the right side of the table, he pulled it out before sitting down, frowning as Negan watched him from the doorway. Negan paused, gazing at him for a second more as if to determine how to proceed, before turning and moving to the other chair, “To answer your question earlier Mr. Parker. . .” he pulled out the chair on the other side and sat down firmly, moving his hands before him to clasp one another as he leaned forward, focusing a calculating look on Rick that made him shift a little in his seat.

Negan sucked in a deep breath and let it out, all but just a little of his previous irritation gone now, “There are things to BDSM, and especially BDSM dungeons, that you are clearly naive and ignorant about. We do NOT do just whatever we want to do with our clients. There are very clear rules regarding what goes on upstairs that are in place or that are made in the pre-session interviews, that should NEVER be broken. The simplest of course is the rule about no sexual intercourse. There is to be no true sexual intercourse between any of us and our clients. That is the main rule. Now, moving on from that are the rules about damage, body modification, and safewords. No client or worker is to receive permanent lasting damage to their body or permanent body modification within our walls. Also, each Submissive or Switch worker and any client seeing a Switch or Dominant is to have a set of safe words, or ways that they can tell the other that things are reaching a point where the other may need to slow down in the session, or that the session needs to stop immediately. My establishment is about helping people relieve stress and meet their needs through excellent service while still preserving the rights and safety of my employees. These rules and guidelines are laid out and set up prior to the sessions to ensure that that goal is achieved in a respectful manner. Understand?” 

Rick grit his teeth. It seemed . . . fine, the way Negan said it, but clearly the man wasn’t operating by his own rules if that phone call was any indication. . . besides, even if Negan had those rules set up and still followed them himself, how did Negan know they were followed each time? Rick voiced the last question to him, and Negan smiled calmly, “Now that is a good question, Mr. Parker. Each session is recorded, to further help ensure that the rules are followed. And although each session is not avidly listened to at the time it is taking place, all any worker needs to do to communicate with the rest of us that a session must end is hit a button on that speaker box,” he pointed to the box in the meeting room, “And alert any of our workers who are tied into our intercom system that the session needs to be stopped immediately and that they are unable to do so themselves. I have enough workers with the right clearance linked up to our system that the session can be terminated within two minutes if necessary.” “And what if your workers go too far?” Rick remarked, frowning. 

Negan frowned, and grit his teeth, a guarded look going up in his eyes, “NONE of my workers would ever do that. I assure you. Now. . . do you have any more questions about what we do here?” Rick grit his teeth. He didn’t really want to show any further interest, but something had peaked it, “You said safe words or actions are agreed upon to basically be a yield or a stop sign in a session, correct?” Negan smiled and nodded, “Of course.” “Why not say “No”, or “Slow Down”, or “Stop”?” Rick asked, frowning. It did seem a little excessive to come up with different words for those. Negan smiled at him a little more, “That is an excellent question. . .” finally, the kid was getting smarter and more respectful about what he was saying, “Sometimes in a session, a client will say ‘No’, ‘Slow Down’, ‘Stop’, ‘I can’t take this’, and the like, when they don’t really mean it. It’s all a part of the scenario they are in in those cases. A safe word or action is something you normally wouldn’t say in this setting, so it stands out and means without a shadow of a doubt that the session needs to slow down or stop.” 

Negan leaned back, eyes on Rick still, watching him, reading him, “Most Dominants or Switches try to be able to gauge without the needs of those words or actions when they’re going too far. But the safe words are there just in case we miss something.” “How many times have you had to have a safe word said?” Rick remarked, frowning at the man. At that a cheshire grin crossed the other man’s face, “In the past few years? NEVER.” “Well, you’re certainly confident,” Rick muttered, not bothering to hide the sarcastic lilt in his voice. Negan smirked and winked at him, “When you’re as good as I am, you can afford to be. . . Now, down to business, if there are no more questions?” Rick shook his head in the negative. That had been the only thing that he’d wondered about. Negan smirked, “Excellent. Now, you’ve told me why you want to work here, so now, why should I hire you? Sell yourself to me, Mr. Nicholas Parker.”

Rick sucked in a deep breath and let it out, “Well, for starters, I have the three years experience requested for the position, along with excellent references.” Negan nodded, “You do,” he turned and pulled his ipad closer to himself, looking over the resume, “And all of those references have already been contacted. All each person had was praise for you, Mr. Parker, which definitely looks good for you. They say you’re punctual, that you have some good bartending skills, and that you are well organized. Now, have you done any extra bartending or taken any bartending or hospitality classes outside of that?” He glanced up at Rick, finger hovering over his ipad. 

“Yes, actually. I did take a brief course with the Action Bartending School in Norcross, before my first bartending job outside of college. It was required that I pass the course in order for me to garner that position,” Rick replied, “It was under Jenn Marco, I can give you her number as contact information on that.” In truth, he HAD technically taken the course. . . last week, anyway, and Jenn knew the correct answers to questions Negan might have should he contact her. The darker haired man nodded, tapping at his screen, entering in the information as a note on the document, “Thank you, I’ll do that. Do you have the number ready for me?” 

“Yes sir,” Rick remarked, and spoke her number flawlessly, which Negan then entered into his ipad. “Excellent, thank you Mr. Parker. I’ll contact her before 5 o’clock today,” Negan stated. Tilting his head back, he refocused his gaze on the man across from him, “Well, you seem to have good references and the experience required for my bartending position. Your current clothes would work fine for your job uniform as well. The only real requirements I have for my workers in general is that all my workers have close toed shoes that are cushioned for support, as most of your time will be spent walking or standing, and that all of my workers not wear clothes that are too loose. Your clothing should be loose enough to be able to work in and unload deliveries, but tight enough that it doesn’t get caught on anything. As with all of my other food service workers, I will require that you keep your hands clean on a regular basis and your hair pulled back and secured. I obviously want you to follow all other standard food service regulations. Are you clear on all of what I just told you? Do you think that those guidelines will be easy for you to follow?” “Yes sir,” Rick replied again.

Negan smiled, “Very good. Now, this is my other major rule regarding my workers. Any severe violation of this rule WILL get you fired immediately, any minor violation will be like a baseball game. You know, three strikes and you’re out. You are NOT, at any point in time, allowed to insult, berate, or otherwise disrespect any of the patrons at The Sanctuary. You are NOT to physically assault anyone unless it is necessary for the safety of others. In that case I or one of the security members should be contacted. YOU might not agree with what we do here, Mr. Parker, but that gives you no right to violate the nonjudgmental atmosphere that I am trying to maintain here. Is that understood?” Nick noticeably stiffened before him, but then nodded, darting his eyes to the table as he clenched his hands tightly, “I understand,” he remarked quietly.

Negan nodded, and turning to his ipad, seemed to mark some more things down on it, “Moving on, do you have a reliable mode of transportation, Mr. Parker? Also, about how far away from here do you live? What if I need you to come in for a shift unexpectedly? Dwight is pretty good about showing up, but of course we don’t know what might happen, so I need to know if you will be available most of the time for ‘spontaneous shifts’ that might arise.” Rick blinked, mentally preparing to answer each of the man’s rapid fire questions, “Yes sir, I do have my own car. I live about a half hour away in Collier Hills North, and I should be able to come in for most shifts that open up that way.” Negan nodded, and tapped the screen in a few more places, “And on the note of coming in for shifts, what is your general availability Mr. Parker? Weekdays? Weekends? Both?”

“I can work most weekdays and weekends, but. . .” Rick bit his lip a little, releasing it luckily before Negan saw him biting his lip ring. The man frowned, and his dark eyes darted up as he frowned at him and tilted his head to the side, “But what, Mr. Parker?” Rick moved his hands off of the table and gripped his knees firmly, “I need to have every other weekend off, sir.” Negan raised a peppered eyebrow, “May I enquire as to why?” Rick grit his teeth a little. He’d secretly been hoping Negan wouldn’t ask him that. . . after all, he couldn’t very well say that he had to have his eight year old son come see him on those weekends. He didn’t want Carl implicated at all in this investigation, and having a kid that old just wouldn’t fit in with the image he was needing to project. But he was unwilling to give up his time with Carl. He’d lost Lori and the relationship they’d had. He refused to lose Carl too. . . luckily, he’d thought up something to use as an excuse beforehand.

“It’s my mom, she likes to come up from McDonough with my dad and they like to spend time with me every other weekend,” Nick said slowly. Negan tilted his head to the other side, frowning at him, “I see. So you are close to your parents then?” The brunette shrugged, darting his eyes back down to gaze at his lap, “More or less. We didn’t see much of each other when I was in college, so we’re kind of trying to make up for it now.” Negan nodded, “I can respect that. . .” Turning his head back down, he put his finger to the screen again, and noted how Nick grit his teeth harder, gripping his knees tighter.

Rick wasn’t stupid, as he watched Negan study the screen of his ipad. He knew that the limited availability might make it harder for him to be hired on, but he’d had to say it, he told himself, and now that he said it, he wasn’t going to take it back. . . it felt like the silence drew on forever as Negan looked over his profile, and when Negan opened his mouth again, Rick was sure he’d be denied the position, his heart beating in his chest and his blood rushing in his ears. 

“I’m sure Dwight should be able to work around that, Nicholas. Hell, the man’s been without a fellow bartender for a while now. Some of my waiters have had to do it part of their shifts here,” Negan remarked with a shrug. Rick let out a sigh without even thinking, and Negan glanced up, a sly grin crossing his face at his reaction, “Thought you were about to be out the door, didn’t you?” Rick grit his teeth, “Perhaps. It had definitely crossed my mind.” Negan chuckled, shaking his head, clearly amused, “Damn, two drinks beforehand and still so tense, aren’t we?” Rick licked his lips, “Like I said, I really want the job. Bills to pay, you know.” “Of course,” Negan said, nodding, “Now, speaking of jobs, what about your career Mr. Parker? You have a degree in Business Management, are you looking to go further in your education or experience with that?” he leaned back in the chair, letting it rest on its two back legs as he took the ipad and tapped it against his knee.

“I’m hoping that the more I work in the food service industry, the more I’ll get a feel for what it takes to run a successful business in this industry,” Rick replied, “I would also like to go back to school, of course, eventually. To further my education.” “Soooo, ultimately what would you like to do?” Negan said, tilting his head to the side again, studying Rick. “Own my own Gastro Pub and Beer Garden, preferably,” Rick said firmly.

Negan nodded, “Interesting, here in Atlanta or somewhere else in Georgia?” “Wherever I can open one in the general area. I haven’t really given the location much thought” Rick replied. Negan nodded, “Understandable, although you will want to think more about location in the future. For example, if you’re the sixth Gastro Pub in an area, that’s a lot of competition. But you don’t want to be in a place where there is zero clientele for you there.” Turning back to his ipad, he tapped away again, “You don’t currently have another job though, correct? So aside from the two weekends a month you should be available as a full time employee?” “Yes sir,” Rick answered. 

“Excellent. Well, the bartending hours range between 9:30 am to 12:00 am on days when we don’t get shipments and 8:30 am to 12:00 am on days we do. Since the bar opens at 11:00 am each day, that would give you an hour and a half to get things prepared for the day if you’re the opening bartender on non shipment days and an extra hour to unload and store the shipments on the others. On some days you will open while Dwight closes, while on others Dwight will open and you will close. There will be days when one of you is the only one working, during which you will usually come in at around 3:00pm, and one of the waiters will open for you. You will get an hour lunch break on any day you work, and all of your days will only be 9 hours long, with 8 work hours and one break hour. . . you will also be allotted two twenty minute breaks a day. Will that work for you? Also, you won’t be scheduled to open directly after having to close, at least not usually. I require that all of my employees make requests for specific days off two weeks in advance, but as long as you and Dwight are able to work coverage out, I don’t really care who shows up for whose shift. But, should no one show up for your schedule shift, regardless of who’s to blame for it in the end, you will be held responsible. Understood?” 

Rick nodded, “Yes sir.” It seemed reasonable enough, after all. “Good,” Negan said with a firm nod, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head, smiling at Nick, resting his ipad on his knee, “Well those are all of my questions. I will be running another background check and will be contacting Jenn Marco, as well as setting up a drug test for you with a local occupational center, but so far you’re looking pretty good for the position, Mr. Parker. Now, do you have any more questions for me?” 

Negan watched the man before him, wondering vaguely what sorts of questions he would ask him. He was still beyond certain that the man was a narc, his answers were too uniform, apart from that weird every other weekend thing. . . he was expecting the man to be more compliant with availability than that, but hell, he supposed spies had a life too.

Even though Nick was a narc, Negan was sure that he wanted to keep him around, at least for a little while. Besides, he had nothing to hide as he was doing nothing that was technically wrong, so why should he be worried, really? Hell, maybe letting this kid see that Negan wasn’t doing anything wrong would be what he needed to get the Police off of his back. Besides, the way Nick said “Yes sir” in that sweet southern drawl, it was intoxicating. 

As the man opened his mouth, Negan tilted his head up further, eyebrows raised as he waited for any question the man might have. “What about employee benefits?” Nick asked, “Seeing as this is as full time position, I assume I will be receiving some?” Negan smiled, and nodded, “After 60 days you will be able to apply for health insurance through my business. You will receive a pamphlet laying out those benefits for you with various plans available for you to choose from. I work with Blue Cross Blue Shield, as well, if that further answers your question. Those sixty days will also be your trial period. Should I see fit to fire you for any reason during that time, you will not be able to apply for unemployment. After that, so long as you do not breach your contract or give cause for firing through job abandonment, you will be able to apply for unemployment, of course.” 

Rick nodded. What Negan was talking about was pretty standard stuff. “Anything else?” The older man remarked, pausing for Rick to ask any other questions. “Nothing comes to mind right now,” Rick said. Negan grinned, “Excellent. Now,” he stood up abruptly, swiping up the ipad, as he did so holding out a firm hand for Rick to take. Rick grit his teeth and stood, sliding his smaller hand into Negan’s gloved one, and as the man’s fingers wrapped around his own, he felt the firmness and intensity of the man’s handshake. His eyes moved to Negan’s cool dark ones, and even now they seemed to be calculating and observing him, “I have a client that should be here already to see me, so I will let you move on to the next part of your interview process.”

Rick frowned, “Next part?” Negan smirked and guided him out of the room, still holding his hand as he led him back down the hallway, “Of course! You can say you’re a great bartender and that you have experience all you want, hell even your references can! But I gotta see how good you really are, pretty boy!” As they reached the “Out” door that Negan had pointed out earlier, he put his key card to the scanner pad and there was a loud beep before he pushed through to the room beyond, letting go of Rick’s hand to do so. They re-entered the loud Strip Club, strobe lights going on the stage as “Flatliner” played over the sound system. Rick blinked, taking in the crowd that had gathered while he’d been interviewing. There were quite a few more people in the place now, and not only were the strippers dancing to the music, bodies writhing and pulsating, there were some customers who had taken it upon themselves to dance too. Some of the customers seemed to know what they were doing, but others didn’t seem to understand how to dance quite so well, earning humored looks from the staff and other patrons. 

Negan turned to Rick, smiling at him, “You go over to D while I go find my next client, Jessica.” turning the man looked over the room, his eyes gleaming with the lights from the stage, licking his lips as he saw all the people moving and enjoying themselves. Spotting a red head with long curly hair sitting at a table drinking a martini and eating what appeared to be a brownie with a mountain of ice cream on top, the slender girl wearing a beautiful green cocktail dress and mary janes, the owner turned to Rick, “D’ll show you some of our house specialty recipes. You’ll demonstrate those along with some common bartending skills to him, then I’ll come back after my session to test you myself. Then I’ll make my decision about you after that second background check, your drug test, and my call to Marco, understood?” Rick grit his teeth. He’d hoped that he had the job already, but clearly this was going to be a bit tougher than he thought. . . But still he nodded, even as the nervousness flared again in his belly. What if he royally dropped the ball? What if all this progress was for nothing? Negan smirked at him, and winked, “Good luck pretty boy.” 

Turning, the man in the suit began to make his way to the red head, with some people reaching out and touching him and talking to him as he went by, grinning at the owner. Negan was definitely a social butterfly, Rick decided, as he laughed and talked back to the people, caressing some in a way that was more than just a friendly hello. 

Turning, the undercover Sheriff’s Deputy sighed, heading over to the bar, trying his best to avoid the other people in the room. Yep, Negan glided through the crowded room like a cat. . . meanwhile he felt like he was having to do a complicated ballet in steel toed boots, and one he hadn’t even learned yet, for that matter. . .

As he approached the bar. Dwight was finishing up with some new customers. The blonde haired man turned to him as Rick approached, “You passed the first interview, huh?” Rick nodded, “Yeah, he sent me over here-” he turned and glanced over as Negan was leading the girl, Jessica, from the table and to the door that led into the hallway. He sighed, glancing at her abandoned ice cream and martini as the other man continued. “Of course, you’re here for the practical examination, correct?” Dwight asked in a cheery voice. Rick turned back to him and nodded silently. Dwight smiled and walked to the end of the bar closest to the door of The Sanctuary, and Rick followed him, taking the hint to do so. Dwight glanced at him, eyes lighting up, “Cool man, that’s half the battle right?” As they reached the end of the bar, Dwight opened a small door there, and Rick moved silently through it, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach, wringing his hands together. Yep, it was the first half of the battle. . . he just hoped he didn’t screw up the second half.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo what did you all think? I actually looked at a lot of pictures of Oakland City, Atlanta, GA, before I chose for that to be the area where Negan's venue is located, which was an interesting experience in and of itself. Also, yes Rick "thinks" he is a straight man only interested in women (and right now quite frankly not interested in anyone), but we all know that Negan will be turning him around in due time. ;) Most of the elements in the story will be based on actual nonfiction memoirs read regarding BDSM dungeons, so I do hope that my description will be passable.


End file.
